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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29630508">The Ridge of Thedas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherLesbianFromTumblr/pseuds/AnotherLesbianFromTumblr'>AnotherLesbianFromTumblr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abolition of the Circles, Anti Celene, Anti Feudalism, Anti Gaspard, Anti Monarchism, Deviates From Canon, Deviates during the plot of the Awakening Expansion, Dismantling of the Templar Order, Don't say there isn't a fair warning now, F/F, Fall of Feudalism in Ferelden, Multi, Schisms in the Andrastian Chantry, Very Anti Cullen, anti chantry, anti cullen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 19:01:59</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>98,539</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29630508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherLesbianFromTumblr/pseuds/AnotherLesbianFromTumblr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
            <p>Leliana and Imerati discuss trauma, the status quo and political visions late at night.</p>
          </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Warden’s moment of vigilance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Leliana and Imerati discuss trauma, the status quo and political visions late at night.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter discusses trauma from war, incarceration and indoctrination to self-hatred as a child. It also discusses the violence of monarchies and poverty in some detail.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:30 Dragon, 7th day of Kingsway, past midnight</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Imerati awoke to the sudden realization that something was wrong. Something was missing, and she couldn’t return to her dreams without it. As her senses begrudgingly started to take in the world around her, she rolled over. Matter of fact, the woolen blanket to her right was empty. She sighed. In one swift but less than gracious motion, she exited the tent and stood up. A dozen tents were arranged vaguely concentrically around the central campfire. By the position of the moon, she could guess who had watch duty right now – and stopped herself from cursing as she noticed Zevran in his tent rather than at the edge of the campsite. No, it wasn’t like him to abandon post, not with him disobeying the orders of the Crows. He wouldn’t become this reckless, even given the group’s current state of exhaustion.</p><p>Wanting to make it to the Redcliff in ten days instead of the usual sixteen, she had advised them to make haste since the great dwarven doors protecting Orzammar closed behind them. It had taken a visible toll on the group only after three days, as they barely put up their camp before wordlessly retreating to sleep. Maybe she would have to adjust the travel plan, at least until they reached some of the fortified outposts in the nearest of the bannorns loyal to the Guerrin’s alliance. There, they could ask for horses. The news of Bhelen’s ascension to the Aeducan throne – a political act of her creation entirely – and the pledge of two armies to the cause against the Blight were the final good news in a series of difficult negotiations to assemble an alliance to fight the Darkspawn. They needed to be factored into the next steps accordingly and the news needed to reach Redcliff, as their move to end the civil war among the Ferelden humans needed to calculated to…</p><p>But not now. She needed to find out who was guarding the camp in Zevran’s stead, although she had her suspicion. She exited the circle of tents. At the other end of the clearing, in the shadows cast by one of the tents, sometimes illuminated by the flicker of the fire, a woman was standing atop a small boulder, looking at the night sky, arms crossed around the back. The orange tones of the fire harmonized perfectly with the woman’s red hair, while the everchanging flickering posed a stark contrast against the woman’s motionless posture. Imerati liked to let herself be mesmerized by this woman’s ability to radiate grace in the most average of circumstances. She, even in mere leather armor, became a beacon of skill, care and deliberation. What is usually called regality, something every king tried and automatically failed to show, suddenly made sense in that woman’s presence.</p><p> </p><p>Making sure to be noticed, the Warden approached her girlfriend and carefully hugged her from behind, resting her chin on Leliana’s shoulder and closing her eyes. For a short moment of peace, they stood there, sheltered from the events of the world around them.</p><p>Leliana was the first to add to the silence in a soft and quite tone. “You looked so peaceful. My – apparently futile – plan was to not to disturb your sleep in all of my restlessness, my rose.”</p><p>She left Imerati’s embrace and sat down at the edge of the boulder, motioning the Warden to do the same.</p><p>“It was not you who woke me, rather your absence at my side,” Imerati replied in her deep and measured voice, sitting down and continuing, “I take it that you replaced Zevran in the watch duty plan until sunrise?”.</p><p>Leliana took Imerati’s hand before responding. “I was so lost in thought I started wandering around. I saw him there, and while his training prepared him for days and nights without rest, he surely was overly thankful for my proposal to switch with my spot in a few days. And now I am here, following my thoughts and asking questions.”</p><p>“And are the stars delivering onto you satisfying answers, my love?”</p><p>Leliana laughed, countering, “I am afraid they are a source of even more thoughts. Or rather, the dwarven superstition that the talkative young Shaper told us right after Bhelen’s coronation told us about. Do you remember? They feared that by stepping outside Orzammar’s gate, they risked falling upwards into the sky, towards the clouds and stars. While dwarves seem to loathe that idea, it sounds like a marvelous and most beautiful scenario to me.”</p><p>Imerati shrugged. “I mean, it is evident that the dwarven society underground relies heavily on dependable ceilings. In a hall with literal mountains above your head, it is a matter of life or death to notice small changes to the stone above you and keep it intact. The sky is in perpetual motion, that must be at least subconsciously disturbing for them. Besides, given the lack of air and coldness in higher altitudes, it does indeed seem a rather uncomfortable proposal... But the sparkle in your eyes tells me you have actually thought about it in a different light.”</p><p>“Think about it without the negative side effects and with the ability to control it”, Leliana insisted. “Hovering above all of Thedas. Looking at the beauty of the Maker’s creation, nature stretching outwards, the intermingling of land and sea, the constant flux of the weather, the faint dots of light that are in reality the largest settlements. Imagine perceiving the beauty of all things interacting, all at once, from a point of view high in the sky, flying between the stars and the ground. That beauty gives me strength, for I see the complexity of the world as a sum of all its potential.”</p><p>Grinning, Imerati teased. “Taking on the perspective reserved to your god, my dearest Andrastian sister? Take caution, your Chantry might accuse you of yet another case of blasphemy once this mess is cleaned up. But yes, I understand what you are saying. It is the feeling you get looking down on a settled valley from a mountain ridge; knowing that so much life, so much activity is caught within your field of view. To be able to see all of Thedas like that… it would be interesting. All that life threatened by the Blight. All that life that will be corrupted by the darkspawn if we don’t stop the Archdemon. It would be a difficult undertaking by itself if his self-appointed highness Loghain Mac Tir didn’t declare the Grey Wardens an enemy of the kingdom. To declare Grey Wardens a treasonous group and enemy of the kingdom in times of a Blight doesn’t automatically make you an Archdemon, but it sure as fuck make you a profiteer of the countless deaths of conscious beings. I… I remember Ostagar. I remember how he let the Grey Wardens die, how he let the darkspawn completely overrun Cailan and all these people. He made his flank retreat only when he knew they’d all die. It was impossible to see their faces but… I saw the army. Their screams made it to the top of the tower. He killed them. He let them be slaughtered, all of them. Just so that he could take the order of the Wardens as the culprits, while we are conveniently unable to clear our name.”</p><p>She paused for a second, staring into the dark of the forest. “When I was recruited, I left the circle willingly. Not only was I given the chance to escape a prison by another name, but also to help people. Nobody forced me into the joining ritual, I believe wholeheartedly that this –“ She motioned in the direction of the camp without looking there. “This saves people. Hopefully permanently. We all have our reasons to press onward. You are here on a mission by your god. Zevran is finding his path away from the crows. Morrigan wants to escape her mother. Alistair wants to avenge his brother, King Cailan. I understand family means that much to him. But for me, Cailan is just another head with a crown. And one crowned human falling at Ostagar wasn’t what I saw that day. It was thousands of humans being slaughtered alongside him. From atop that tower, I could hear the screams. I cannot hear the screams of those who will be killed because the Wardens, because we cannot be there to save them. I don’t know if I’d prefer that silence to falling upwards, seeing them all but not being able to shield them from pain. Mac Tir killed more souls than any singular genlock can by making a scapegoat of the Wardens, by having us killed, in Ostagar and everywhere else in Ferelden…” Imerati’s voice broke, her lips trembling.</p><p>After a few seconds of silence, Leliana gently placed her hand on Imerati’s cheek and turned the Warden’s face towards her. “My rose, you are helping those people with more determination and energy than I have ever seen anyone capable of. You have reforged the Wardens from a couple of souls almost broken by battle to a powerful coalition of every willing army this side of the Waking Sea. Once we have stopped the Archdemon, Alistair will be most invested in restoring the Wardens as Ferelden’s king. Loghain is moved by his neverending hunger for power, while Alistair would be most careful with the powers of the crown. We will win and rebuild.”</p><p>Imerati looked into her girlfriend's eyes and was overwhelmed the zeal and hope radiating from Leliana’s expression. How much she longed to hold that boundless beauty forever. If anyone would not immediately run away from the truth, it would be Leliana.</p><p>Imerati chose to trust in that willingness to change perspective she had first encountered months before and reached for her girlfriend’s hand, pressing it more firmly against her cheek. She held that warmth for a short eternity beginning to speak.</p><p>“Undoubtedly, Alistair would make for a better king than Loghain. But there stands the eternal truth of no such thing existing as a good monarch. The throne stands atop of corpses no matter the one seated upon it. It cannot exist without spilling the blood of those who oppose it, be it those who challenge its place by words, actions or mere existence. Alistair would not make a good king automatically just because he has no interest in the throne. Do not fall for the illusion that the unwillingness to take power makes one immune to its corruption. How many were installed as kings without planning to do so and turned to despotism? The nature of the crown is that it rests more heavily upon the heads of tyrants than on the heads of those who show clemency; a heavy crown is harder to remove.</p><p>And even a palace void of a ruler at its center will still be swarmed with lawmakers and lawbringers who are expected to have a high opinion of themselves. If a guard commits acts of moral depravity, the other guards will be much more inclined to shield them from consequences than to challenge their own source of authority. The violence of the crown is found in the cries in the alienages, the tranquils in the circles, the hunger in the farms. That is a state Alistair could not overturn, no matter how strong his will. Besides, Alistair certainly hasn’t been ambivalent about the idea of his reign. He openly and loudly resisted suggestions that he may take the crown. I respect any person’s right to individuality too much to force him into any decision. Whatever happens, his life should be at his free disposal.”</p><p>Leliana’s usually carefully composed facial expression slipped enough to reveal the hectic movement of a plethora of thoughts upon realizing Imerati wasn’t going to continue speaking. “So… it must have been hard for you to chose between Bhelen and Harrowmont as a king of Orzammar. You would have rather chosen none, wouldn’t you?” was the reaction Leliana arrived at with noticeably less delay than Imerati had expected.</p><p>Imerati let out a short but honest laugh. Her life had taught her to expect encrusted thoughts to rather swing back than change when challenged. Of all humans, an Andrastian sister was willing to adapt to a new set of ideas this quickly. Leliana was a ray of positive surprises in these dark times.</p><p>“Your aim is as precise as always, my love. None would have been an excellent choice for king, but the deshyrs would have sent the army unanimously against me and not the Blight had I chosen to shatter the crown. It took me an unimaginable lot of restraint not to do so, though, if that answers that part of your question. But if you wish to understand my reasoning, I need you to remember the scene we were made spectators to when we entered Orzammar for the first time. Bhelen axed an opposing aristocrat in the open streets. While Zevran just criticized the sloppy… well, execution, our other companions were much more shook. They looked at Harrowmont’s silent and seemingly smooth regency next to the empty throne and thought that he would be so much less violent than Bhelen. And yes, if you look at what Harrowmont did, you wouldn’t have noticed King Endrin died. Nothing changed, all continued like before. One might consider that a positive while looking at the surface of the Diamond Quarter.</p><p>But you accompanied me to Dusttown these weeks. You saw the misery in a thousand faces. Desperation and resignation produce terrible sounds and they echoed from every corner. Theft was so commonplace because there, it isn’t a petty crime, it is a matter of life and death. You saw the women desperate to get their children food because they were ostracized from their so-called families for falling in love outside their caste. You saw the unlucky young folk evicted from their homes because some deshyr wanted an unblocked view on the halls. You saw the dwarves exiled because they were considered unable to fulfill the expectations for what is called normal work. Every soul broken, discarded, with full intention and full toleration. The Diamond Quarter could not exist without Dusttown. And that is the essence Harrowmont’s reign. Bhelen’s violence is a few individual nobles killed in the Diamond Quarter, Harrowmont’s violence is tens of thousands of dwarves collectively stripped of their dignity in Dusttown. Bhelen will not completely disband the caste system or completely abolish the nobility, but his reforms weaken its everpresent power, maybe one day to the point of destruction. Precisely that was what mattered in the end.”</p><p>Leliana considered these words for quite a while before concluding: “Dwarven society, as you pointed out, is built upon constancy. Do you not fear such a change to corrode the ceiling of Orzammar too much?”</p><p>Imerati objected immediately: “There is a strong difference between the structural integrity of a building and societal hierarchies, for normally the fact of a building standing strong by itself does not hurt any soul. Besides, if a modicum of consideration for others brings a society to the brink of collapse, none shall intervene in the fall.”</p><p>The surprise on Leliana’s face had been fully superseded by sheer curiosity. “If these are your ideas on one dwarven city, your plans for Thedas must fill several books.”</p><p>Imerati nodded. Now it was her turn to let her gaze wander off to the brightness of the moon. “Indeed. If it were up to me, the face of Thedas would be unrecognizable to those who only know this current one. The duty of the Wardens is to defend Thedas from the Blight, but few understand what that truly entails. Before the first messages arrived from the Kocari Wilds heralding the start of another Blight, it was talked about like something that couldn’t happen again. Like history long past. Many consider it the direct effect of a singular Archdemon, something isolated that causes one darkspawn army and can be defeated on the battlefield alone. They forget that the Blight thrives on the way things are. The corruption of the darkspawn finds breeding grounds in the greed and hunger for power that is the driving force between the existence of any nobility. A human noble need not be a mage to be enthralled by a Pride Demon. With most of them, I don’t even see what a demonic possession could worsen. And, while nobles are the first to join the ranks of the darkspawn, the ones pushed aside by all of society are the first to die. That the Ferelden nobility has the chance to squabble about the throne and rightful heirs is the result of the blood spilled by the common folk and the Dalish clans in the southern part of the Hinterlands and the Brecilian Forest. You know the faces of Lothering better than I do, Leliana. You can picture who was killed by the noble inability to act in this time of crisis. And while the crisis makes things worse, many injustices just persist stronger and more ignored than before, as the Templars and city guards abuse their power over the circle mages and city elves alike. Thus, if you ask me what I want to change, it is but a list of the necessary changes deriving from an obligation to all souls in this world and wanting to avoid another Blight. Every soul needs to be free to fill their life by their own volition.<br/>That means the abolition of the concept of nobility and kingdoms from Antiva to Orlais,<br/>disbanding the Circles and the order of Templars along with their local arms in form of city guards,<br/>it means giving all Elven people from the Alienages to the Dalish the full rights and protections reserved so far only for humans,<br/>it means the restauration of the Dales, to dismantle Orlais to a point where it no longer continues to destroy what is left of our past,<br/>it means dismantling the racism that Ferelden and Orlais constructed and perpetuate to justify their exploitation of others,<br/>it means utterly destroying the society of Tevinter and freeing the souls enslaved there,<br/>it means disbanding the Chantry’s hate at the center of it all;<br/>it means ensuring that every soul on this world is entitled to food, access to clinics and education without any question or reservation by any haphazard justification, be it money, state of one’s body, upbringing, place of birth or color of skin. Anything less and the Blights will gradually worsen over time with the passing of the ages. I know I can’t understand the pain of every soul harmed by this world, but I need not. All I have to do is listen to and help those who would stand up to form a better one.”</p><p>Well, that was the truth. She really hoped that Leliana would understand. It was tiring to walk this path alone. No matter what, she had spoken the truth, condensed and precise. Such moments usually managed to give her back some sense of purpose and determination. She stopped staring into the moon and turned to look at her girlfriend. Leliana’s answer carried genuine concern and sadness: “Do you really blame the will and words of the Maker for the suffering of Thedas?”</p><p>Imerati shook her head. “The Chant of Light is as much to blame for the crimes of the Chantry as magic is to blame for the crimes of the Magisterium – that is to say, it is used as a legitimizing agent by those who profit from certain structures of power. I do not blame your faith for this – our, my – suffering. I know you seek to help people based on the belief to fulfill the will of your god and his wife, and that is a wonderful example why every soul’s faith should be theirs to fill. But you know much better than me that you do not represent the Chantry. How often did you clash with clerics? How often did sisters dismiss your words as nigh heretical? Weren’t there multiple grand clerics who sought to remove you from the chantry buildings in Lothering only to be stopped by Dorothea? The ideal you see in the Chant is the opposite of the reality of the Chantry! The Chantry’s history is a river of blood spanning the ages over which random verses of the Chant are shouted to silence those who would stand against it. You might believe in the Chant by free will, but how many have been forced into subservience under those words by the tip of a sword? The entire clergy rests upon the destruction of the lives of mages, elves and non-believers alike. So I can tell you this: There might be a place for a chantry in a better Thedas, but there is no place for this Chantry to fit in a world that honors the dignity of every soul. You might be able build a new, reformed chantry, one that follows the mandate of compassion in the Chant. But it must be in constant awareness of the violence of this – current – Chantry, both fully left behind and an eternal reminder of what to avoid in such an institution.”</p><p>She felt her mouth running dry. She had patience, but sometimes it was a lot. To have to explain it to people. Even those who cared despite the societally mandated ignorance never fully managed to understand. But, at minimum, Leliana cared. Maybe she could relate to some degree. The first step was taken and Imerati knew Leliana could learn to walk by herself. “I… Usually I hate to talk about this but I want… I need you to understand something. When I was abducted as a child, the pain was supposed to crush me. It was supposed to crush my sense of belonging and family, supposed to crush everything that could anchor me. The circle was designed to fog my memory, to make me distrust myself, and it absolutely did. It severed me from any belonging I could feel to the alienage, to my people, to myself. Do you know what the Rite of Annulment is? It is the authority, the raw power granted to the people standing in front of your door to enter at any moment and behead you if they think they like you even less than usually. Do you know what the Rite of Tranquility is? The same, but without leaving a body. To sever a mage from their emotions and will? That is a death, leaving behind a husk programmed to have no self. And I saw it happen to people. One after another. Every couple of months. You see what they do to people, for their feelings, for living as they are, for their pride in their own existence, and you learn to delete yourself. As the years progressed, I became less and less of myself. I numbed myself to not see my body changing form into something wrong. I numbed myself to not see the pain around me. You know, the words 'they’d make me tranquil me if they noticed me being myself', or more precisely 'they’ll bring unimaginable pain unto me if they notice my self', they didn’t form while I was there. They formed into my full consciousness the night before Ostagar. Because I was too scared to think them, Leliana. They make you afraid of your thoughts, of your feelings, of every aspect of yourself that would in a better world be celebrated. And, of course they not only withheld the medicine that would have directed my body to change into the form I am. They withheld from me the mere information of its existence. I wasn’t aware that those feelings of disconnect might point towards anything, really. There was a network of pages smuggling in secret Qunari texts that gave me the words I needed to even think about it. In all those years, I did not live, I merely survived through them. And I know that there are mages who live so much worse. I mimed a quick study and eager student and those books were my shield. There are so many so much more unfortunate, given how the Kinloch Hold isn’t even among the top three tightest of the circles that the Chantry spins around us. The Templars are the sword that strikes, but the Chantry is also the mouth that shouts to attack. Mages turn to blood magic, because potentially turning into an abomination doesn’t mean anything if there is no soul left that you can lose – they already took that away. So, if you ask me why: Magic is beautiful, Leliana, it is a true gift, and it can spawn on any soul regardless of standing or place in the world. So only the freedom of all souls can assure that no one suffers the fate I did, to be torn from yourself.”</p><p>Leliana’s mind seemed to be in full motion, shifting ideas and threads and expectations through many stages at once. “I am… beginning to get a fuller picture of what you intend to accomplish. I…” She stopped, collecting some slowly forming realizations.</p><p>“Revered Mother Dorothea always told me to listen to those who have plans to lead the Chantry to a path of more righteousness, that the Chantry is not immune to criticism. I am uncertain if she ever taken someone like you into that account.” Once again, she paused.</p><p>“Considering your words about the Chantry, they certainly ring truer than I usually like to admit. The Game has become so central to the Grand Clerics, they have become complacent in many acts of violence. And as you have shown me my error in thinking about elves and mages, I certainly can see the urgency for reform…” Breaking of that thought, she began anew.</p><p>“As a bard, I have certainly met many who bent the rules of the Game and not few who at least purported to want to permanently amend its rules. What you are proposing, however, is more akin to pouring tar on the Game’s board and lighting it on fire…”</p><p>“YES!” shouted Imerati triumphantly. “Precisely!” Recognizing that Leliana hadn’t finished talking yet, she went silent again.</p><p>It was again Leliana’s turn to stare at the moon contemplatively. “The words you spoke, those ideas would be grounds for charges of high treason in most of Thedas. You are challenging every powerful player on both sides of the Waking Sea at once. Common sense would dictate to not speak up when you face a more powerful enemy, yet you value the loudness of your voice more than your life.”</p><p>Leliana sighed. “And yet you are fully correct in doing so. The truth you present is more uncomfortable than I’d ever even recognized. Who knows how many decades I’d be running around Thedas not noticing the conclusion to seeing all these injustices? You speak truth despite what the powerful say, yet didn’t Andraste herself not also speak up to the maker rather than let his words stand? You wish to fight against all odds for the liberation of the downtrodden, yet did not Andraste herself consider Shartan’s rebellion as her equal? ‘And in your heart shall burn an unquenchable flame’, who am I to deny the fire behind your eyes? You understand the soul of the Chant in more ways than any Grand Chancellor ever has. The Chant points us to provide charity to those in need, and the need has become unsurmountable by the way the Chantry is.”</p><p>She paused, this time in precise deliberation. “The path will be most difficult. The moves necessary to achieve your goals are manifold and would require at least some toleration the Grand Cathedral and some loyal palaces at the beginning.”</p><p>Both curiosity and boldness entered Leliana’s voice. “Say, in all your opposition to kings, why did you wear Cailan’s armor at Bhelen’s coronation? I understand its functionality in battle, but as a part of ceremonial procedures?”</p><p>Imerati raised an eyebrow. “What, isn’t it enough that the purple of the leather parts and the golden embellishments harmonize perfectly with the purple of my eyeshadow and the violet of my lipstick?”</p><p>As Leliana only reacted with a look of slight disappointment at the joke, Imerati continued with more seriousness. “Alright. It is quite simple. It sends a clear message: ‘This belonged to a king. As I am wearing it now, you are aware that the king is dead. Remember that kings are more mortal than you assume.’ As you are more familiar with playing the Game than I am, I thought you wouldn’t have to ask at this point.”</p><p>Leliana’s eyes glistened. “Oh no, I am aware what you tried to say, but isn’t you wearing royal armor not also a fascinating declaration about you in itself? As we can only assume Queen Anora’s role in Loghain’s regency and you don’t want to force Alistair on the throne…”</p><p>Imerati had prepared many outcomes for this conversation, but she was caught by surprise both by Leliana’s direct acceptance of her ideas and the proposal she just brought up. “Uhhh… of course I am aware of that implication, but I never thought of it as much more than a contrast. I am a sum of so many things the Ferelden nobility hates: An elf, a mage, aqun-athlok. Most of them would rather burn the palace together with Denerim down than let a person with one of these attributes take the throne, what do you think happens if I turn up demanding the crown?”</p><p>Leliana’s reply was swift: “Wouldn’t a burning palace bring us one step closer to your vision of Thedas? Besides, we don’t know what circumstances the future might hold. I am sure they’d be more lenient towards an Elven contender for the throne bearing a title of the realm…”</p><p>“It would take decades to get to a point where I am anything akin to an Arlessa or Bann, and all that time could be spent better,” Imerati interrupted, “besides, it would require overpowering several noble families at once and the last thing I want is innocent people becoming locked between me and them just so that I can amass more power.”</p><p>It was apparent Leliana held more hope that such a path was possible, however, she also knew that this wasn’t a topic for now. She continued: “All right, we’ll see. But I want you to know that I will stand at your side no matter what. I trust you, my rose, and I know you have the determination this world needs. I will always support you, no matter what… hey… are you okay?”</p><p>The shock on Imerati’s face was a visible grimace that shattered with the first tear. It was quickly joined by others. Between the tears, she tried to speak. “I… I really don’t know right now. I have always been… always been so alone… I never had someone trust me before, at least… not like this…”</p><p>Leliana did not answer by words, but by simply offering Imerati her shoulder, an offer the Warden directly accepted. She cried and sobbed for a couple minutes, held in her girlfriend’s warm and protective embrace. It was an eternity she allowed herself. After the tears subsided, she raised her head again. “So… do you want to change the world with me?”</p><p>Leliana laughed, and Imerati was fully entranced by the beauty of that sound. “I want to continue changing the world with you, forever at your side.” She leaned closer to Imerati, carefully taking the Warden’s head between her hands and kissed her.</p><p>After a while of not letting any thought but the experience of the Leliana’s soft lips cross her mind, Imerati spoke again. “I must look awful after all this crying, I apologize.”</p><p>Leliana knew better than to scold Imerati for this, but she rigorously shook her head. “My rose, you are as beautiful as always. Your eyes always carry the reflection of thousands of thoughts in your mind and now I can see more of them.” She reflected for a short second. “Say, do you allow me to ask you a question that might break this serene moment?”</p><p>Imerati grinned happily. “Any moment in which I can hear your voice is an oasis of happiness, my love.”</p><p>“Okay” Leliana cleared her throat. “Why haven’t we sent a carrier pigeon with the news of Orzammar’s alliance to Redcliffe yet? I see and understand the reasoning behind all this haste and giving a detailed report in person, but it seems unwise to delay the gist of that information any longer…”</p><p>Imerati blinked. Did she really forget… In all the dozen things she planned after leaving Orzammar, she really did forget the most basic of… “Yes, we’ll send one right after sunrise,” she finished her thoughts out loud, “but first, let us take from this moment what we can. Who knows how many of them we are granted in all of this…”</p><p>“Let’s.” Leliana grinned as they started kissing again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello and welcome everyone. I’m Kass, you may also call me by my username. My pronouns are she/they. This fanfiction is been a project very long in the making and I can’t see when I will stop pouring time into it. It all started out with me jokingly complaining to a good friend and colleague that a female Cousland as Queen of Ferelden can’t romance a (later) Divine Leliana, and she replied that Queen Cousland x Divine Leliana would be too much radical power for Thedas. I was delighted by that idea. Now, months and well over a hundred pages of word documents later, I have arrived at a point where things are even queerer and much more radical than Queen Cousland x Divine Leliana could ever be. This project is the first fanfiction I’ve ever written and my first creative writing project since middle school.</p><p>CN colonization, institutional queermisia, implicit conversion therapy for the next two paragraphs</p><p>I am very thankful for the contribution of one person to the DA fandom, Lydia as Kispesan/Dalishious on tumblr. Their in-depth knowledge of lore and outlook on the fundamental problems and positives of Dragon Age helped me unlock a deeper connection to the stories of Thedas that meanders between hate and love. Also, I would never have fallen in love with the character of Briala if it weren’t for their telling of Briala’s perspective in their beautifully written story of Journey’s End and their implementation of a more faithful Briala into DA:I via mods. I would have never considered that one can write satisfying trans stories in the very cisnormatively written canonic Thedas if it weren’t for Journey’s End and the incredible portrayal of Catherine/Aurélie. I mention Lydia as well because my story will contain discussion and eventual implementation of Dalish independence. They have written in detail on the coding of elves as indigenous, making any story of Dalish independence one that should consider and discuss aspects of decolonization. I am white and European, so I will never have the same perspective, the same proximity towards the topic of Dalish independence that they describe. I was raised by a racist society to think in racist ways, I was raised by a colonizing society to see the world through colonizing perspectives. I am doing my best to do ample research before writing about perspectives not my own, but no amount of research guarantees that I won't make mistakes. I will try my best to write about many different revolutions in Thedas, large and small, collective and individual, however, those stories will be woefully incomplete to a large degree. If you find any aspect of this fanfiction being a reproduction of real-world marginalization, and you have the energy to do so, please call me out on it. If you like the idea of a progressive approach to Thedas as opposed to BioWare’s constant forced centrism, please check out Dalishious on tumblr and Journey’s End on AO3. </p><p>What I do write about being close to my heart and experience is mage rights. The treatment of mages in canonical Thedas is an amalgam of different real-world oppressions, but I feel a direct kinship to circle mages. When I first played through the Amell origin in DA:O, I did not even notice it but I fell back in my old survival mechanisms I developed growing up an obnoxiously queer kid in a strongly rural, very catholic area. That what I remember is that of course there weren’t armored guards with swords and half a genocide permit in front of my doors like in the circles of Thedas. But the psychological state of the queer kids around me and myself, the intention, the violence, the justification was similar to those aspects in the circles. I gave comparable trauma to the character Imerati Surana (surprise!). I also made her a poly lesbian trans woman who tends to have gay panic attacks (they said write what you know). I also made her despise the concept of unjustified hierarchies. To some extent (a lot in this prelude) she could be considered a self-insert. There is also a lot of wish-fulfillment here. I write this fanfiction because I liked the idea of telling this story. The road towards the eventual major historical events in this alternate Thedas will be paved with nerdy history jokes, thinly veiled comments on the fandom and chaotic queer energy. I hope it is at least somewhat enjoyable.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Société en lettres</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Leliana and Imerati exchange letters about the political intruiges of Val Royeaux and the military proceedings in Amaranthine while also longing for each other.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter discusses transmisia and violence against a marginalized group in some detail. While the latter is directly lifted from canon, the elves of Dragon Age are coded analogous to several real-life marginalized groups. Regarding this canon event, tumblr-user Dalishious has included a discussion of the event in their Indigenous Coding in the Elves of Dragon Age on page 25 (c.f. https://href.li/?https://kvisit.com/7wE/juIG).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dearest,</p><p> </p><p>I hope you are well. Alas, I am unable to come to the keep as I promised. I am so sorry, but the Grand Cleric herself wishes to speak with me. I will tell you all about it once I have had my audience.</p><p> </p><p>Is it true the darkspawn have not retreated? No matter, I'm sure you have it under control. Wish I could be there, killing darkspawn beside you. Perhaps you could save some for me?</p><p> </p><p>(All right, that was a joke. Do not spare them. That would be silly.)</p><p> </p><p>You are always in my thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>Love, Leliana</p><p> </p><p>P.S. Maybe you could consider growing some roses around your keep? That would make it so much prettier, don't you think?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Attached to the letter is the following seal: Letter by Sister Leliana of the Andrastian Chantry to the Warden-Commander of Ferelden Imerati Surana, written approximately the 7th day of Justinian, 9:31 Dragon, Archival Document</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>My love,</p><p> </p><p>I am as well as I can be in your absence, that is to say, not very. Given how much resources are devoured by the efforts to modernize the defensive structures around the keep already, some gardening expenses will surely not strain our coffers noticeably further. My advisors called it folly when I suggested giving the workers payment for their labor and limiting the times they have to work on a day, but I am going to stay adamant about this. And I am certain some of them will enjoy gardening more than hoisting boulders and masonry. A few rose bushes might be an excellent way to forever write our love into the keep's appearance. Additionally, I will have a reminder of you every time I step outside the keeps gate. If my mind isn’t completely occupied with scanning the surroundings for any of the many assassins the local nobility will surely send to deal with me, that is.</p><p> </p><p>This is the first time since the Steel Age that an elf has been elevated into the higher Fereldan aristocracy and I can count the instances an elf has been made part of the aristocracy in all of Thedas since the end of the Blessed Age on one hand. I know my appointment has been a move in the Game between Queen Anora, Empress Celene and any potential heirs of the Howes. I am fully aware that any elf or mage being appointed anything is a power move that they don’t make themselves. Celene wishes for better relations with Anora, Anora wants to postpone her promise of freeing the Ferelden circles by a token of representation, and the ones who want to lay claim on the Howe’s heritage are betting on a weak Arlessa to make the nobles wish the return of Howe’s iron fist. In those rare instances we are made anything of seeming importance, we are never our own subject, but a mere object in someone else’s hands. I loathe it. This is precisely why no freedom can be achieved while these structures of power are allowed to stand.</p><p> </p><p>Trying to rebuild the Wardens does mean meeting fascinating new individuals. Fascinating and loathsome ones, that is. Do you remember that dreadful voyeuristic dwarf that tried to join our group when we went into Orzammar’s deep roads? Some fucking way, he showed up again and tried to insert himself into the center of all things. I sent him away like last time. However, there is this one mage named Anders who ran away from the circle and murdered several Templars. That was quite the intriguing situation when I arrived at the keep some days ago. As more Templars arrived to drag him back, I used the Rite of Conscription on him. It is fascinating to see the name and power of the Wardens restored, but I see that they hate that it was me who survived the battle against the Archdemon. They mourn Alistair so loudly that I am made to know that half of that is also mourning that I didn’t die. I wouldn’t be surprised if most of them laud Alistair with one breath and curse his decision to execute Loghain after the duel at the Landsmeet. They’d rather have that tyrant as a ruler than an elf, as a tyrant is less of a challenge to their authority. Alas, they will have to cope, now that all of southern Thedas is in our debt. I could grant Anders only temporary and conditional freedom, sadly, but we will see the day the circles fall, I promise you that. Anders has been very vocal about mage’s rights, and he sure knows a lot about liberation, he obviously has read most of the forbidden old theories on mage freedom. Yet he always talks like he knows all, especially over my female advisors, and every time he talks about women or Elven people or any other oppressed soul, I must actively restrain myself from freezing his mouth shut. As I don’t wish to abuse my power, I am doubtful if I should discipline him as his commanding officer. But if made to understand the full picture, I am sure he will play his part in things to come.</p><p> </p><p>I understand the brevity of your last message as your caution in revealing too much, yes? Worry not, I have had a scribe of the keep under Ander’s input develop a magical way to seal our letters in order to insure some privacy. As with all things magic, it isn’t completely safe, as we don’t always even understand why, just if something is working, but it should allow us more freedom. Those seals are just so dreadfully formal, I asked the scribe to get rid of the titles multiple times and he insisted that this is the way seals work. In all the authority of my title I apparently may not reject it. As I know you will be interested in hearing both of the political proceedings and the military goings-on, I have ordered the same scribe to send you abbreviated notes on the official documents of the Wardens and the Arling every five days next to fresh seals.</p><p> </p><p>In the nights I lay awake on this overly luxurious bed I still remember falling asleep in your arms in the camps and would do everything to be back with you. I have the highest respect for your quest to transform the Chantry, and I know you will do so much good. However, is it truly egotistical to want to exchange the cold blades on my neck for the warmth of your lips?</p><p> </p><p>With the burning love of the sun,</p><p> </p><p>Your Imerati</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Attached to the letter is the following seal: Letter by the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine Imerati Surana to the Sister Leliana of the Andrastian Chantry,  written the 24th day of Justinian, 9:31 Dragon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>My rose,</p><p> </p><p>caution was one half of the reasoning behind my lack of words, the other was the short window of time before Dorothea’s audience and before the courier left. I promise to find more words for you whenever I can, though no library could contain the sentences you are worthy of. Thank you for the constant stream of information, it saves my contacts in your court some very precious resources. I might have them relocated to Denerim at some point in the future.</p><p> </p><p>As you have gained a weighty title whose only power is unto itself, so have I. You now have the grand and ethereal honor to call the Official Keeper of Crests for the Grand Cleric Dorothea of Valence and Cumberland your girlfriend. It is such a long title for meaning absolutely nothing except being formally introduced to the Game as her spymaster. It is also a declaration of ambition on her part, no doubt, as she spins an evergrowing network of reformists. However, this title does grant me a place in Val Royeaux, which does provide me access me more information than usual.</p><p> </p><p>There is palpable tension within the Grand Cathedral, I have never seen so many seekers and clerics and clerks walk these vast halls and long corridors. One may hear their steps get faster every day. If you can, you need to try it out some day in your court: Sometimes, if you really pay attention, you can hear desperation and scheming in their steps. While you have some reports indicating sightings of talking darkspawn sitting on your table, I hear more and more coordinated nothings from my usual sources of gossip. Something unspoken is brewing, I can feel it. Especially often, the seekers seem to enter the antechambers to the Divine’s living complex with barely pent-up rage. There have been tugs-of-power between the White Spire and the Grand Cathedral ever since the beginning of this age, but there must be something more to this.</p><p> </p><p>Like you, I have made new acquaintances, though much sweeter than yours. At a party in honor of the meeting of the College of Magi, attended by Dorothea to make a point about circle reforms, I met the recently nominated ambassador of Antiva to the Imperial Court. Usually, such parties tend to be intensely dull, but I saw this young woman outplaying three barons and one duke in the time it took me to get new candy from the buffet. It was a feat as marvelous as her voice, the latter of which I had the pleasure of enjoying for more of the evening. It is difficult to describe the exact how to the uninitiated, playing the Game as a bard makes you tuned to the presence of other bards. As the party became less interesting every second it dragged on, we crossed our rhetorical swords like duelists do in recognition of talent within others. I can asure you, for her barely eighteen years, she has more wit than some people who spend their life in the game. I am yet unwilling to admit my defeat in the discussions we had, but so few ever come close to outpace me in a game of wits that she is most notable. I think she’d make an excellent ally. As much as I am uncertain if she can fully leave behind her belief in nobility, I still think she’d agree to helping the world; if you ever find yourself in need of a player that rather uses a sugar-coated feather in place of a poisoned dagger, send word to Josephine Cherette Montilyet.</p><p> </p><p>Should we scold a rose for seeking out the sun, no matter where it shines? I miss you as much as you miss me, and there can be no fault found in our love. I miss fighting back to back with you against the darkspawn; when we could still see the rusted sword aiming to strike us. Out here, in the hardened air of the Grand Cathedral, I fight alone, and the only time I don’t expect to find a hidden blade in my back at a moment’s notice is backed into a corner. I thought all this time that I yearned to get back into the Game but I never knew the nature of yearning until you left my side. Additionally, the nature of the Game has been altered drastically once I entered it with the goals we set out. Suddenly, each individual player’s ruthlessness becomes a symbol of the problems we have yet to solve. Though, whenever I conjure your face in my mind, I remain calm and confident that we may change the state of the world for the better.</p><p> </p><p>With a passion to rival Andraste’s confidence in humanity,</p><p> </p><p>Your Leliana</p><p> </p><p>P. S. The system of seals seems quite extraordinary, I ordered one of my agents to breach your last letter and it only broke xyr tools. And yet my hands seemed to open them without any problems. Whatever magic Anders has imbued in them, it is packing a punch. Given the faint blue shimmer they emit in the dark, do I correctly guess they are powered by lyrium powder in the wax?</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Attached to the letter is the following seal: Letter by the Official Keeper of Crests for the Grand Cleric Dorothea of Valence and Cumberland Leliana to the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine Imerati Surana, written the 11th day of Solace, 9:31 Dragon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Light of my life,</p><p> </p><p>You are correct, the seals are imbued with traces of lyrium and are indeed powerful. Your agent was insofar lucky as to not have tried to cut out the seal from the paper to unroll it, xe might have lost the letter next to xyr tools. I know your zeal very well and it will be eternally a source of my admiration, but maybe talk to me before you try to meddle with magic, I am the mage here, remember? Like most magic, it is sensitive to the will of the individual interacting with it, for all intents and purposes, it acts like a gatekeeper for the intended reader(s). I have yet to test its limits aside from rolling and unrolling it; as you are aware, it reseals itself after your roll the paper back up.</p><p> </p><p>As you might be aware, Nathaniel Howe tried and failed to assassinate me. Given his commitment to his father and his father’s crime against the Elven community of Denerim, I had him questioned on his involvement. It appears, quite frankly, like he did have but a very distant relationship with his father, both physically and emotionally. Still, I have sent word to the Elders in Denerim’s alienage, if they want to send an ambassador to monitor the last Howes’ activity. As far as punishments go, while he is no Zevran (who would certainly have succeeded in infiltrating the keep and killing me), he is still a capable assassin, and I was pragmatic. The Wardens are in dire need of recruits, and one additional archer will do just fine. No doubt that this will be the only time in the next months that anything I do will find the noble seal of approval, and that isn’t a lot given other developments.</p><p> </p><p>It makes me glad to hear that among all the rotten matter of the ballroom you still find hints of genuine connections. On the hills and fields that brim with demons in much cheaper clothing, I made new acquaintances of my own. Velanna is a Dalish mage with a steadfast and unbreakable urge for resistance against human oppression. While our first interactions might have had need for one of my rare diplomatic moments, we have grown close in the few days since then. She was exiled from her clan for trying to stand up to human aggression: There were villagers who, by burning it, destroyed the forest these Dalish lived in, to destroy their clan, and Velanna took a proactive stance that wasn’t in line with her Keeper’s neutrality. The few elves who left the Clan with her afterwards were killed, save for her sister, who was kidnapped. So I contacted that clan and asked what they needed. Accordingly, I had the villagers located and jailed for their crimes against my people. For restorative justice to be served properly, however, both the danger and the damage need to be mended. The clan was granted full stewardship over their original woods as well as the area they moved to after the fire, as well as any resources necessary to restore the forest. Next item on the agenda is attending Velanna’s reconnection with her clan as well as dealing with the growing noble unrest against me. However, I still have no clue who among the Banns hates me (or rather, who doesn’t hate me). I have been advised to seek out the help of an information broker called the Dark Wolf who appears to have a network spanning the local nobility, and I am actively considering that option.</p><p> </p><p>The slowness with which the day we see each other again approaches could not cause more pain. If it is the will of your god separating our duties, why does the Chant describe him as kind and graceful? Why am I forbidden to smell your hair or hear your laughter? Why is it that the mere ink on paper in every letter you write me fills my mind with the sweetest sound of your voice for hours and hours on end? Why could your stories fill nights and nights on end when the complaint of one noble drags through minutes? In all the questions that plague my days the only answer I ever need is you. May we fulfill the tasks we set out to complete with all the speed we can muster. I love you so much.</p><p> </p><p>Eternally yours,</p><p> </p><p>Imerati</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Attached to the letter is the following seal: Letter by the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine Imerati Surana to the Official Keeper of Crests for the Grand Cleric Dorothea of Valence and Cumberland Leliana, written the 27th day of Solace, 9:31 Dragon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Brightest of stars in the night sky,</p><p> </p><p>As you are certainly aware, your last letter was delayed quite a bit on the Orlesian border and the courier had to find another route. The current goings-on in the Comté de Jader are gravely concerning, and many players are currently scrambling to find a reaction: The most powerful chevalier of Orlais, Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons, has moved an army there so large that the Comtesse has been powerless from the day  they arrived there. That, in itself, is certainly noteworthy, but the army is simply too large for a simple annexation. He has moved eight of his legions there, that is roughly twenty times the Comtesse’s standing force of one and a half thousand soldiers. And we are getting daily reports that young Chevaliers mobilize all over the Empire, all aimed towards Jader. As the old aristocracy largely allies with Empress Celene, it has become a trend among their sons, the young chevaliers, to see Gaspard as the restorer of Orlais’ glory. Whereas Celene is prone to diplomatic means in her affairs with other monarchies, Gaspard’s saber-rattling is quite the opposite. The fealty of these young chevaliers is what allowed him to outmaneuver the Duke of Lydes who would normally stand between Verchiel and Jader; he moved through chevalier territory with their permission. The official reason proclaimed in all halls and on all Chantry doors of importance is that this is a grand maneuver training exercise under Gaspard’s military expertise and the Comtesse’s blessing for the next five months, but this as an obvious farce. Firstly, Gaspard’s own Grand Duchy of Verchiel has vast empty plains that would be much more suited for such exercises than Jaders small strip of fields and port towns, and secondly, nobody would pour in the amount of monetary resources to keep such a large force assembled for so long just for training. There have been some rumors that he plans to take out the duchy of Lydes before striking against Halamshiral from Jader and Val Royeaux from Verchiel, but that makes little sense given that Halamshiral would be a secondary target in most circumstances and his army would still be smaller than that of most alliances Celene might currently rely on. He has nothing to gain by fragmenting his main force like this. The obvious yet unspoken ulterior target could be Ferelden, but he has nothing to gain from an invasion. In Empress Celene’s official meeting with Queen Anora back in Cloudreach, she assured Ferelden’s independence from Orlais yet again. If Gaspard were to invade at this point in time, he would face reprisal both from the rest of the Orlesian army and the combined Ferelden forces. Furthermore, the Imperial Palace has largely been silent in all of this, and that might just be Celene carefully concealing her moves, but if there were any indication that this is Gaspard moving against her, she’d have to restore her authority at least symbolically. Her silence is the greatest mystery among many unknowns as so many pieces are in movement.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Queen Anora’s proclamation to consider the wish of circle freedom you have made on the day of her coronation has caused ripples, and the Chantry is currently breaking its longstanding silence over circle issues. In this openly discussed fragmentation among the inhabitants of the Grand Cathedral, reformists advocate for lowering the numbers of Templars and their rights over the Circles. Well, most of us do, as you and I have discussed so many times, I wish to grant the Circles autonomy, but that position is currently too radical to be spoken out aloud. On the other side stand those who wish to honor the Nevarran Accord and grant more autonomy to the Templar Order. When I speak of the other side, I mean that quite literally; there has been a lot of movement of offices between the buildings around the eastern wing of the Cathedral and the western, with everybody struggling to get on the side they support. Divine Beatrix tries to play the neutral mediator, but everybody knows she is actually the unnamed third party to this game as she wants to keep the templars as her personal pawns in Thedas’ politics. With her aging, her grasp over that network is still slipping, and people already make their moves to get in the equally crowded and dangerous unofficial line of her succession.</p><p> </p><p>Surveying the Warden reports, I wish for nothing more than to fight at your side again. I would choose another plunge into the Deep Roads over these dancing halls if it meant spending time knowing you are there. Whatever you are facing in this Architect, it is an enigma as fascinating as the greatest imperial conspiracies. Of course, wherever you are, you are making the world a brighter place, and Thedas better appreciate that. I miss every step of our fight against the Archdemon, every night we spent together, every moment we shared. Whatever the future holds, I know your presence will make it bearable. I keep a small rose bush in my office to be reminded of that truth every single day.</p><p> </p><p>May the radiance of our love make the moon jealous,</p><p> </p><p>Leliana</p><p> </p><p>P. S. Regarding the nobles who ploy against you, my money is on Bann Esmerelle being at the center of it. Her outspoken support for Rendon Howe, even after his death, made her both disdainful of your decision to kill him before the Landsmeet and an appointment of a non-Howe as Arl*essa. And that is before any of your unusual actions as the Arlessa. Still, I’ll observe this Dark Wolf’s work with great interest.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Attached to the letter is the following seal: Letter by the Official Keeper of Crests for the Grand Cleric Dorothea of Valence and Cumberland Leliana to the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine Imerati Surana, written the 9th day of Kingsway, 9:31 Dragon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Brilliance from every candle in this world,</p><p> </p><p>While you were, who would have even doubted that, completely correct in your assessment, I am afraid the detour the courier had to take made your point entirely redundant. Two weeks before I received your letter, I had a friendly meeting with multiple friendly nobles, spearheaded by the honored Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine. By honored, I mean dead. By friendly meeting, I mean an attempt on my life. Among those nobles were three Banns, seven Knights, and one Lord whose status wasn’t entirely clear before his death. Apparently, I managed to enrage quite the few nobles in my short time here. Several of my advisors begged me to keep those deaths a secret for the time being, but as you are well aware, I had a vision.</p><p> </p><p>Three days later, a protest march of common folk arrived at the Keep’s gate. Bad harvests in the last two years have taken their toll on the supply of grain that was additionally dwindling due to the noble tithes. Given that all but four of the nobles that died trying to kill me have no discernable living heirs and the rest of the potential heirs quickly tried to distance themselves from the oathbreakers among their ranks, I decided to declare their former serfs freeholders under the law and redistributed the former noble lands without all too much noble resistance. As by the accord crafted that day, the city of Amaranthine is now ruled by the direct will of all citizens who assemble once per week to make decisions, the rest of the mostly rural holdings are now common property by the twelve hundred freeholders living on them. All the commoner’s accusations of giving preferential treatment to elves and hording grain miraculously vaporized as I presented that idea. As the seal on the official document holds my favorite shade of purple in the wax next to the gold, some of the commoners have decided to nickname it the “violet-gilded freedom”, a name I quite enjoy. However, as much as the farmers enjoyed my proposal, it also met some resistance from another angle. Three of my advisors quit on the spot, two followed the same evening, citing, among other reasons, their “willingness to live unharmed unable to be upheld at my side” and “the honor of nobility perverted”. Luckily, that saves me the time to remove them myself.</p><p> </p><p>The news of Jader worry me indeed, do you know how the Dalish clans in Jader fare under that many chevaliers? Could your network relay to them that they are forever welcome in Amaranthine if the pressure turns out too much? And that they may receive whatever resources we can smuggle there? I loathe not being able to do more at this point.</p><p> </p><p>As planned, we have met with Velanna’s clan, named Revanadas. It finally gave me the opportunity to listen to them myself, if only to see if the keep’s herald who delivered the correspondence last month did adequately do their job. As they did, they failed to mention the clan’s decision to lift Velanna’s exile was spearheaded by one of her supporters who was on the hunt when the decision of exile was made. Her name is Neimena. Honestly, I did not expect the clan to receive us, especially me, with this degree of warmth. In my other encounters with Dalish groups, I was always accepted on diplomatic grounds as a representative of the Wardens, but with the Dalish of Revanadas, I felt welcomed as an equal. Being a part of a community was taken from me the moment the Templars took me as a child, and this feels like a reconnection with belonging that I was never aware I missed. With the recent passing of the clan’s Keeper, Ilshae, Velanna will be leaving the Wardens to help fulfill some of the Keeper’s duties until a replacement is found. However, where the rest of the clan was thankful and surprised, Neimena’s curiosity took the form of strategical political interest. We spoke at length that evening, and as she shows support for my vision, is however yet cautious as to its feasibility under current circumstances. She, among three of her close friends, has accompanied me back to the keep and I sincerely hope that she wishes to remain. I have never met a soul so fast at making logical connections and grasping new situations holistically, and I feel I could learn so much from her. She already begun to teach me pieces of the Elven tongue with great eagerness, and it feels like fractures within my soul begin to mend.</p><p> </p><p>I know that our causes are just and right, but then why does this loneliness feel so wrong? Hahren Calmar of Revanadas sang a story of an inseparable triad of Elven huntresses that took place many hundred years ago the night we were there. Reading love stories back in the circle, I always believed them exaggerations and reality blander, but now I know these books are incapable of holding the truth of love. The tale Calmar told is a much better representation, for I know that our love burns so bright that in eons to come, we will be remembered for it.</p><p> </p><p>As the reports on my desk unmistakably indicate, I am standing on the eve of a large battle, one that might hopefully clear up the confusion around the talking darkspawn. I just wish you were here at my side while we fight.</p><p> </p><p>Ar lath ma, vhenan</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Attached to the letter is the following seal: Letter by the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine Imerati Surana to the Official Keeper of Crests for the Grand Cleric Dorothea of Valence and Cumberland Leliana, written the 13th day of Matrinalis, 9:31 Dragon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Mirror of all the beauty in the world,</p><p> </p><p>I write to you under a time constraint, so please excuse my brevity. I have been selected as the official envoy of the Divine at the court in Denerim, and I will be moving next month via Kirkwall. This is because Beatrix named an outspoken and hardcore accordist ambassador to the Prince of Starkhaven, and she balanced that decision by giving Dorothea the right to choose the next ambassador to Ferelden. That, of course, means she can give the title of ambassador to the Nevarran crown to a loyalist of hers. Dorothea’s decision to name me has been controversial; officially, she claims that my personal knowledge of the Queen and involvement in her ascension to the throne makes me an invaluable asset as an ambassador. Unofficially, this is one of the most influential posts at the fringes of Beatrix’ vast personal network and the center of the events that have led to the open formation of the reformists, and by placing me here, Dorothea makes me her potential successor as the leader of the reformists. But, personally, I suspect that Dorothea, next to the other reasons, also smugly thinks herself an incredible wingwoman by placing me closer to you. Given that this all means I will soon be able to kiss you again, I don’t mind that at all.</p><p> </p><p>I send you greeting of solidarity from Mademoiselle Briala of the Imperial Court. We only briefly spoke three days ago during a visit to the Palace Gardens, but from what I can assess, she might prove an invaluable ally in times to come.</p><p> </p><p>My ship for Cumberland departs in six hours, and I have a complicated and detailed schedule of officialities to attend to. If all goes well, I will see you in the fourth week of next month.</p><p> </p><p>May all beings strive to become as kind and thoughtful as you are.</p><p> </p><p>Leliana</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Attached to the letter is the following seal: Letter by the Permanent Representative of the Sunburst Throne at the Royal Court of Ferelden Leliana to the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine Imerati Surana, written the 18th day of Kingsway, 9:31 Dragon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Next to this letter is the following seal, not attached, but with the imprint: Letter by the Warden-Commander of Ferelden and Arlessa of Amaranthine Imerati Surana to the Permanent Representative of the Sunburst Throne at the Royal Court of Ferelden Leliana, written the 22nd day of Solace, 9:31 Dragon</em>
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</p><p>To the one who makes comets lose faith in the strength of their fire,</p><p> </p><p>As I arrived back at the keep with the knowledge of the defeat of the Architect and full military victories both at the Communal City of Amaranthine and the Keep, and the serendipitous rescue of Velanna’s lost sister, I get the news of your last letter. Words cannot express my joy over four excellent news that usher in the end of all the weight of the last few months. Once you arrive in Ferelden, you must tell me where to meet you, becau…</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Three sudden knocks on the door of her chambers interrupted her train of thought, and as she froze for a few seconds, ink dripped from the tip of her quill onto the paper. No voice came from the other side of the door.</p><p>“It is unlocked!” she shouted in the direction of the knocking, shaking her head and turning back to the paper. Great. Now she had lost her train of thought. Usually, she had to keep writing without disturbance to create a text fairly quickly, now she had to find a new way to continue…</p><p>A familiar voice with an unmistakable Orlesian accent filled her chamber softly. “Hello, my rose...”</p><p>Imerati turned around abruptly, almost toppling the chair she set on, and stood up. Leliana ran into her arms, gripping her tightly, pressing her face into Imerati’s shoulder. The sweet smell of her girlfriend’s hair drowned out the world around Imerati. If she had that power, she would freeze this moment in time forever. They stood there, motionless and free of any want, listening to the crackle of the fireplace for a short while. It was Leliana who moved first, lifting her head, taking a step back and resting her arms on Imerati’s shoulders.</p><p>“You have no idea how much I missed you!” Leliana grinned, tears building up in her eyes.</p><p>“I can imagine…” rebuted Imerati softly, leaning in for a kiss. Leliana’s lips told the tale of a recent journey on a ship. When she leaned back again, Imerati could see the violet mark of her lipstick on Leliana’s face.</p><p>“Why aren’t you in Denerim?” Imerati inquired.</p><p>“I arrived at the port of Amaranthine two days ago and took the direct way to see you…” Leliana whispered.</p><p>The woman motioned towards the bed at the other side of the room. Imerati nodded, leading Leliana there, hand in hand. Imerati sat down on the lower side of the bed and let herself fall backwards into the pillows. Swiftly, Leliana laid down on top of her, once again interlocking her lips with her girlfriends’. In between their passionate kisses, Imerati whispered “I have missed this so much”.</p><p>With a sparkle in her eyes, Leliana replied. “Yes, me too, it is…”</p><p>She was interrupted by the door being swung open. With lightning speed and in one movement, Leliana rolled away from Imerati, jumped on the floor and drew a previously concealed dagger at the intruder. It was the page who relayed information between the offices of the keep.</p><p>“My… mylady… myladies…” he stuttered, his breath rapid and his face white as chalk, but visibly unable to process the dagger pointed at his face.</p><p>Imerati raised her upper body from the bed. “You better have a good reason to storm into my chambers unannounced!” Maybe Imerati should have a better policy than never locking any doors. She would have to think of other methods to increase access to the offices.</p><p>“Ye… yes…” the young man continued, trying desperately to catch his breath. “Mylady, there was an explosion in the capital… Queen Anora… she has been killed”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Welcome to the point of divergence! I always hated how the Awakening expansion gave the player character a powerful title and an army, but no option to change things. Where is my prompt to join Anders in throwing fireballs at the templars? Where is my option during the court session to say “fuck aristocracy, this belongs to the people now”? I am supposed to have the jurisdictional authority over these people but can’t even prosecute the humans that attacked Velanna’s clan? Why do people not see the sapphic solidarity and flirting between Sigrun and Velanna? Why am I almost forced to kill the hungry peasants and yet the option to just attack the aristocratic authority symbolically is considered evil? The rest of this chapter is just a tad worldstate exploration, introduction of OCs, and setup towards the first main conflict of the fanfic. And also, queer yearning.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Status quo vadis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The group of revolutionaries around Imerati assembles to discuss the ramifications of the murder of Queen Anora.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter discusses violence commited by a group framed to be enforcers of law and the aftermath of a deadly explosion as well as a violent military occupation of a city. It also mentions an event in which people try but fail to commit racialized violence and fleetingly mentions substance abuse and the loss of one's family.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 22nd day of Solace, late evening</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“… and so we call upon the Arlessa of Amaranthine to mobilize a force and liberate the capital from these enemies of the Kingdom. As per agreement with Grand Cleric Elemena and the Representatives of the Order of Seekers, the Arlessa may use any means necessary to end their presence in Denerim. May the Maker strike out against all who stand against this decree. Witnesses to this decree have assembled on the 21st day of Solace in the year 9:31 of the Dragon Age in the Castle of Caer Oswin: The Arl of Redcliffe Connor Guerrin, the Bann of…”</p><p>“That’s quite enough,” Imerati interrupted the squire. “You are dismissed. Please leave the decree at the table.”</p><p>“Yes, mylady!” He bowed slightly in the direction of Imerati and moved towards the door. Wait, no. He hadn’t bowed in the direction of her, he had bowed in the direction of her seat. Unfortunately, she made that experience quite often; when those who believed in the noble way spoke to her, they quite vividly spoke to an imaginary projection behind her. They actively and with great concentration looked past her ears, her staff and the occasional times her voice fell even lower than normally, fixing their sight on a point some distance behind her. Maybe they also imagined the throne empty in such situations. They certainly did not want her here, and they did not want to talk to her like an equal.</p><p>She turned to the small circle of individuals as soon as the squire closed the door. “All right, what do the agents from Denerim say about the current situation for the citizens there? Do we have any news on the state of the alienage?”</p><p>Leliana looked towards her, her head slightly tilted. “Dear, wouldn’t introductions be in order first?”</p><p>Imerati blinked. Yes. Of course. She looked around, wondering with whom to start. There were two dozen lit candles and five flickering torches in the room she had redesignated as a map room when she first arrived at the keep, and still it felt too dark. Was it the walls absorbing so much light? The fact that the room had no windows? No, this was a common problem in all the castles she ever visited. Something about them made them prone to invite darkness.</p><p>Nodding, she turned towards Leliana standing at her left side, and grasped her hand. Leliana’s hand pressed back “Everybody, this is Leliana, my beautiful, brilliant and intensely powerful girlfriend.”</p><p>From the other side of the table, Anders remarked: “Oh we couldn’t just assume that based on your description of her and the fact that you mentioned loving her, I don’t know, one, two, three hundred times?”</p><p>Imerati threw a dismissive glance at the mage. “That jackass over there, who is just salty that he is still single after escaping the circle, goes by the name of Anders.”</p><p>Anders shrugged, his grimace somewhere between theatric sadness and playful defensiveness. “Not for lack of trying, I tell you.” Even the yellows and reds emitted by the torches couldn’t hide the fact that his skin was even paler than usual. This was still his period of adjustment since merging with a benevolent spirit of justice to which he agreed last week. Given his development and the fact that he had amended his political stance to be more encompassing to other marginalized groups, Imerati had given her permission and assistance for the ritual, knowing that Anders’ activism would require a lot of strength. </p><p> </p><p>Pointing to the right side of the table, Imerati continued. “This is Neimena, Huntress of Clan Revanadas and Commander of the combined Arling-Warden forces.”</p><p>The Elven woman mustered Leliana. “Andaran atish’an. If your skills match a tenth of Imerati’s detailed tales about your exploits, I am happy to know you as an ally.”</p><p>Leliana countered: “Do you really think that if she tried to lie convincingly, she’d tell you what she did?”</p><p>Slightly less cautious, Neimena chuckled. “Ma nuvenin. Indeed, your love seems very true and very honest. That makes you aware of the greatest strengths within one another, not completely ignorant of the other’s flaws.”</p><p>The Elven warrior’s short yet muscular stature was what many noticed at first, the top of her head reaching only to Imerati’s shoulder. Four of the eight would-be lieutenants among the new Warden recruits had learned of their mistake in reducing her to this most basic part of her appearance the hard way when Neimena first arrived at the keep. They had mocked her until they chose to take it further and drew their swords on her. Neimena had fatally wounded three of them before the fourth could properly chose a combat stance. When Imerati heard of the goings-on several minutes later, she had the surviving lieutenant stripped of rank and thrown in a dungeon. Down there, he rambled on about magic, but Imerati was quite aware this wasn’t the case. She could not sense any magic in the Dalish huntress, rather, it was her ability of perception that made her a proficient fighter. When Imerati tried to apologize in the name of the Wardens, Neimena cut her off, pointing to the human’s hubris as the cause for that situation and asking Imerati to make an oath to the restoration of the Dales. As by her deep conviction, Imerati reaffirmed that she would give her life to that cause. To Imerati’s surprise, not an hour later, Neimena asked her if she could make changes to the Warden Army, and of course, she was happy to know such a capable woman leading this forming coalition force. Her first act as Commander was dismissing the rest of the lieutenants safe for one and filling the now open spots in the command structure with the Dalish warriors who had accompanied her.</p><p>Any elf with some connection to the Dalish traditions would have seen a vastly different individual by Neimena’s appearance than the humans who had dismissed her. Her armor, traditionally light as that of most Dalish, shimmered in many shades of blue as the chainmail above the woolen padding was made of Lazurite alloys. They were a scarce resource in Ferelden and must have cost her years of determined and continuous search to find in the quantities necessary to make a full set of chainmail. As much time must have flown into the acquisition of the Lazurite found in her Dalish short sword at her side. Among the sea of blue and silver, her emerald pendant stood out as an accent of green, an amulet the clan kept among the few surviving items their founders rescued from Halamshiral centuries before. The braids of her hair followed traditions dating back to the warriors of the Dales as well, making them both practical in battle and a statement to those it concerned. While the left half of her face showed intricate deep blue branches tattooed on her dark brown skin, the right half of her face was the inverse of those symbols, being almost completely filled with ink safe for the untattooed spaces that symmetrically mirrored the branches on the other side. Imerati had learned that this was a Vallaslin of Elgar’nan, one much more complex than those one would normally see dedicated to that same Elven God. When Dalish elves came of age, it was custom for them to receive these tattoos by the hand of the Keeper. Given that this process was described as painful, it was also a rite of passage, those who endured it silently showing that they could control themselves. Neimena’s choice of that Vallaslin was a choice to undergo a ritual that took an extensive amount of time and required an unfathomable amount of self-control. While she looked up to Neimena’s knowledge of Dalish lore, Imerati also felt admiration for the determination and ambition of the huntress who, at twenty-two years of age, was as old as her.</p><p> </p><p>“Behind Neimena is Matthian, her aide-de-camp and ninth in command of the combined Arling-Warden forces,” Imerati continued further.</p><p>“Honored to make your acquaintance, representative.” He placed his fist on his breastplate and bowed slightly, the traditional military salute in southern Thedas.</p><p>While he had been the only one among the would-be lieutenants to actively defend Neimena and demand that they don’t fight her, it still baffled Imerati that Neimena had made him her personal aide-de-camp. Sure, he was a capable swordsman and he certainly wasn’t lacking discipline. But Imerati couldn’t really point out what made him that special to garner Neimena’s attention. His parents had moved to Ferelden from Rialto when he was a child, that much she knew from his recruitment statement. Yes, that was indeed the most remarkable thing about him: That he actively sought out the Wardens and asked to be recruited. From what, he had lived in the small town of Lornay, twenty miles southwest of Ostagar for most of his life, until it was overrun by darkspawn forces. Seeing that destruction lead him to despair and hectic travels through the lands until he heard the news of the battle of Denerim. In need of recruits, Imerati agreed on the spot. His eagerness and discipline combined with a clear respect for the elves and the one mage up the chain of command did indeed make him a welcome presence in meetings.</p><p> </p><p>On the right side of the table, she found the next individual. “You are already acquainted with Zevran. I made him an advisor to the army, teaching the warden recruits to fight by unconventional means.”</p><p>“Unconventional means of combat do indeed seem to be your area of expertise,” Leliana joked.</p><p>“It is so good to see you again as well, my friend. I hope the last months have been kind to you”, the elven assassin replied.</p><p> </p><p>Finally arriving at the last figure, standing at the right of the table, next to Zevran, Imerati concluded: “And this is the Dark Wolf, he replaced my seneschal as my main source of information when the latter quit after the introduction of the violet-gilded freedom.”</p><p>“Greetings, Sister Nightingale,” the masked individual addressed Leliana.</p><p>“Not many use that name…” replied Leliana with sudden caution and defensiveness.</p><p>The voice of the information broker did not change from a very diplomatic yet inquisitive tone. “Rest assured that you are quite the enigma, representative. Even collecting that alias was quite the expense in resources.”</p><p>Resources that Imerati provided a fair share of, that was. As the attempt on her life had come suddenly, before he could finish his investigation, he had offered Imerati to look into any other topics to be worth the fifty sovereigns she invested in him. Surprised by the progress he had made in even two weeks into mapping the allegiances of the local nobles, she had hired him permanently as a member of her court. From what she could gather, he was elven, but the rest of this individual’s story was as concealed as his face was under the mask he wore at all times.</p><p> </p><p>“Now that the pleasantries are concluded, can we please get back to the topic at hand?” demanded Imerati. “Can we pinpoint how many Templars are taking part in this uprising?”</p><p>“Certainly. About four hundred and eighty followed the rogue Templar that started this all to Denerim, and about twenty of those died in the explosion, though my contacts are unsure about the true impact of the tower collapsing yet.” He cost her several sovereigns a week, but by all means, Imerati liked having access to the Dark Wolfs network.</p><p>“About four hundred and eighty. Isn’t that three quarters of the number of full Templar knights stationed in Ferelden?”</p><p>“More like four out of five”, estimated Leliana, “and their number of reserves should be included in that.”</p><p>“How the fuck did they level half a tower? And most importantly, why?”</p><p>“One of the younger knights apparently used a flaming sword next to a cask of lyrium powder, and that ignition lead to a chain reaction in the lyrium provisions the Templars had placed in the tower they held the hostages in. As the three surviving witnesses have reported, this was not the intention of the Templar rogues.” For a preliminary report, the Dark Wolf’s assessment was surprisingly detailed.</p><p>“If the explosion leveled half a massive tower, how did they survive, exactly?”</p><p>“What I could collect is that among the queen’s guard was a magic user who generated a force field.” Well, even the Wolf’s knowledge had its limits.</p><p>“Isn’t the lyrium the Chantry provides normally a lot more stable? I thought only its crushed down form was flammable…” Leliana wondered.</p><p>Anders snorted with rage. “Probably were using more than their normal provisions and bought from smugglers who sold them some polished unrefined lyrium. Leads to a quite volatile situation. Happened multiple times back in the circle.”</p><p>“Coming back to your initial question of casualties, that is difficult to determine at this moment. The event only happened four days ago and the rubble couldn’t yet fully be surveyed due to the skirmishes between the city guard and the Templars before the latter retreated to Fort Drakon yesterday. However, one of my agents assumes four dead civilians, all human scribes of the nobles in the tower, and about twenty to thirty wounded. Among the royal guard, official reports indicate eleven dead, fifteen wounded and two who survived without a scratch. As the decree by the united Fereldan nobility reads, the bodies of Queen Anora, the Teyrn Fergus Cousland, Bann Franderel of West Hill and the designated Teyrna of Gwaren, Sera Cauthrien, could be recovered. The Arl of the Western Hills, Gallagher Wulff, is alive but in a coma. The Arl of Redcliffe Eamon Guerrin can’t be confirmed as dead or alive at this point and is considered missing.”</p><p>“Maker’s grace,” exclaimed Leliana, “that’s most of the evident royal succession line. How did the rogue templars get hold of them all at once?”</p><p>The Dark Wolf took a long pause before answering. As Imerati had noticed before, it was the closest thing to a shrug he allowed himself to have. “Officially, the meeting that was held on the 18th was a discussion regarding who should succeed Loghain Mac Tir as Teyrn of Gwaren. That explains the attendance of those nobles save for the Bann of West Hills. His presence is the mystery in all of this. As for the templars gaining access to the tower itself – they arrived as a closed congregation of ten, demanding to see the queen so fervently that the chamberlain lead them to the tower where the meeting was held. Once they had access, they took the queen hostage and sprung a trap that lead to ten more of them storming the tower and thirty taking the perimeter besides it. As they ordered the queen’s guard to abandon the tower, the guard complied. About four hundred and forty of the templars had already gathered at key locations in the city, effectively seizing it from the city guard. The explosion occurred when elite troops within queen’s guard tried to take back the tower late at night from the 19th to the 20th. After their failure became clear, the templars retreated to Fort Drakon, where they remain now.”</p><p>“Did civilians get harmed during the battles in the streets? Were the alienage’s inhabitants affected?”</p><p>“Not that we know of. The templars did focus on the royal district and the bridges mostly, and until the explosion took place, they only seized the walls and gates surrounding the alienage. Their retreat was a bit chaotic, but took place on the major streets that were void of civilian activity, especially after the explosion was heard and the smoke rose from the royal district.”</p><p>Given the situation, that seemed like a small miracle. The alienage had suffered enough during the Battle of Denerim only months before. “Why would the Fereldan nobility call upon me to liberate the capital? Wouldn’t the Arling of South Reach have a much larger force to lead into the field?”</p><p>Leliana answered: “We know that officially, they called upon you to make sure that an army arrives in Denerim quick enough. Your units have assembled for battle last week, and they are still rather united. The forces of South Reach are stretched thin in the rebuilding effort following the darkspawn campaign into their territory. But unofficially? There are many reasons. For one, there are several nobles who have looked upon you kindly as the Heroine of Ferelden. Those will certainly believe, if I may exaggerate a bit, your heroism to be a transient property that will also now do its magic. And there are those within the nobility whose support for you at the Landsmeet was calculated and a last resort. They actually want you to fail, which is not unlikely given that any escalation at Fort Drakon might lead the templars to turn the defenses of the Fort against the city.”</p><p>“They… want me to fail? Why?”</p><p>“Honey. You do realize what this situation entails, don’t you?”</p><p>Imerati knitted her brows. What would they have to gain from a prolonged templar occupation? “No?”</p><p>“The Queen is dead. The Mac Tir line is dead. The two most powerful players within the Fereldan nobility are presumed dead and the most influential noble dominion stands without a ruler. The throne is empty.”</p><p>While it suddenly dawned on Imerati, Leliana continued talking, this time addressing the entire room.</p><p>“We are all here not for our own reasons. Normally, a room that discusses politics like this would be brimming with people playing with the goal of more personal power in mind. And while you are all brilliant minds and equally brilliant strategists, you are not here to amass power. You are here on a mission of liberation, whether for yourself, the future or your people. And, most importantly, you have found an ally in Imerati. You have found an aspect in her vision which you want to see come to fruition. This is the opportunity to change Thedas forever. I hereby propose that we aid Imerati to ascend to the throne of Ferelden.”</p><p>The first moment that followed was a rare moment of hearing the Dark Wolf in genuine, unplanned sarcasm. “Oh, so the future royal spouse of Ferelden thinks neither herself nor me subject to a desire for selfish power?”</p><p>Leliana replied wryly. “I wouldn’t let anyone in my girlfriend’s vicinity without knowing their motives. You have made your investigations, Dark Wolf, Sister Nightingale makes her own. As for my own ambition – a mage and circle abolitionist on the throne of Ferelden would tip the delicate balance in the Grand Cathedral decidedly in the reformist’s favor.”</p><p> </p><p>“Stop.”</p><p>Imerati was still in shock and didn’t manage to bring order into the thoughts roaming her brain. “Stop. This is precisely what I don’t want. People will suffer the consequences of… this. Should we do this. There would be… A lot of hate. Only for me to get a fucking crown. A crown that would force me to give up everything… and everything I believe in. There would be suffering… and that for nothing. If I did that…  What about that Orlesian chevalier at the border? Wouldn’t he immediately attack?”</p><p>Upon that utterance, Neimena raised an eyebrow and looked demandingly towards the Dark Wolf. He sighed, reached for the large coffer at his side, opened it and handed two documents across the table to the elven huntress.</p><p>“We are going to make a pause for the next half an hour of this meeting” Leliana said to the individuals in the room. They nodded and went outside the door, Neimena the last of them, after taking several maps out of one of the drawers.</p><p>Imerati turned towards Leliana. “I thought we had talked about this! I don’t want to spend years and doom many lives just to end up on a throne whose only purpose is to stay afloat on a pool of blood.”</p><p>Leliana hesitated. “I… I do apologize. It was not my intention to force you into anything.”</p><p>Imerati started pacing from one side of the room to the other. “I love you. I know you. You always have good reasons for your actions. Why… What makes you think… this would be a good idea? Please give me an explanation.”</p><p>Leliana looked into one of the burning torches on the wall, her eyes reflecting the flicker. “As things stand, you will be marching an army into Denerim, and as I know you, you’ll beat the templars with ease. You will have an army in Denerim, an Arling as your title, and you are the Heroine of Ferelden as things stand. Any non-magical human would be assumed the next monarch in your situation, without question. You are correct that when an individual plays the Game for years, they risk becoming played by the game themselves. But this does not require you to give up your morals or years of your life. You will be a queenmaker in this Landsmeet just as much as in the last one, and this time, your name will be a valid option. No matter who gets the crown in the end, Duke Gaspard will invade given the instability surrounding Anora’s death. You will be only a reason for him to grow overconfident.</p><p>And if not you as queen, who else should it be? Even if you want to dissolve the monarchy, it will be still easier with you on the throne than anyone else. Queen Anora has been killed by templar pariahs who thought even her choice to not outright dismiss mage freedom a crime, do you think any other successor will pick up the mantle of circle abolition? The changes you could usher in will be immensely vital for changing the world. I have seen what you have done to the Arling in less than three months. I have spent but half an hour in Amaranthine, and the people there are energized in a way I have never seen possible. They still whisper their dissent to popular decisions, but when they turn around in fear, they find no guards to scold them. Freedom is a process of discovery and you have started it for thousands of souls in less than one day, in between a noble and a common uprising. Imagine what you would do with a crown!”</p><p>Imerati stopped, paused and sighed. “You are correct. I wish you weren’t this correct. I wish progress would come so fast that I could reject the crown entirely.”</p><p>“My rose, I promise you that we will be pushing the world forward with a force not known since centuries.”</p><p>“I will still have to cooperate with the nobles, won’t I?”</p><p>“Not necessarily. Of course, we need to observe the situation, but if your reign was secure, you might have a shot of turning the violet-gilded freedom into an example for all of Ferelden. You already have a reputation at using few words when talking to nobles, you surely do have no obligation to play nice just for niceness’ sake.“</p><p>“When this crown leaves my head again, it will be in a way that no one can ever pick it up again.”</p><p>“I swear upon Andraste’s ashes to do everything to make that true.”</p><p>“I trust you, Leliana. I love you. Just, please, in the future, can we have such talks before you make important decisions involving me?”</p><p>“Of course. I am so sorry.”</p><p>“I accept your apology. Shall we cuddle a bit on the balcony before the others get back?”</p><p>“Let’s.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>After the room had filled again, Imerati turned to her circle. “As long as there needs to be a new head for the crown, I will strive to get it myself. I will not see anyone harmed in that process and any responsibility arising from it, be it moral or political, will be mine and mine alone to bear. I am grateful for the trust you have shown in me thus far, be it from old acquaintances or new friends. What I will ask of you is something you need not give, and you are perfectly justified in walking out the door if you feel like you can’t give that to me. I ask you to trust in the honesty and determination behind my vision. To trust that it will not break, how heavy the crown may be. I solemnly swear to change the world with every ounce of energy in my life.”</p><p>Anders was the first to speak up. “For the freedom of all mages, I will trust you.”</p><p>Neimena joined in. “For turning Halamshiral back into the free city of our people, I will trust you.”</p><p>“For reasons only Sister Nightingale and I are aware of, I will trust you”, the Dark Wolf continued.</p><p>“For having faith in the assassin, the one who was assigned to kill you, when you had no reason to, I will trust you”, Zevran explained.</p><p>“For making sure no one else suffers needlessly from the Blights in the future, I will trust you”, Matthian added.</p><p>“For your belief in the dignity and importance of all beings, I will trust you.” Leliana’s words concluded the round.</p><p>“So, we have a lot to prepare for. Even if we beat the templars, we will have to make sure the nobles believe me the best option. Is that feasible?”</p><p>Leliana reassured her. “Of course. We will have at minimum four days between a victory and the Landsmeet, given that the nobles need to reach Denerim from their temporary retreat Caer Oswin.”</p><p>“Do we know that the Grand Cathedral and White Spire will not intervene if I tried to become Queen?”</p><p>“While we only have their word in the decree, I know they’ll do everything to distance themselves from the actions of these rogue templars. They will have their hands full trying to wash them from royal blood. There will certainly be condemnation in words, but no reason for an Exalted March. Right now, they’ll overlook you being a mage and an elf, at least the majority of them at this point. You have survived more than harsh words in your life.”</p><p>“Indeed. But what about the chevaliers amassing on the border? How many Orlesian legions are at the Fereldan doorstep now? Eleven? Twelve?”</p><p>“Twelve of infantry, about three thousand chevaliers, but that number is increasing daily,” reported Neimena, “at least if the word of our lethallin over here is to be trusted.”</p><p>“I assure you, my agents are reliable,” the Dark Wolf defended himself.</p><p>“Twelve legions of infantry and almost one legion of chevaliers… Can you make a conservative estimate how many would Ferelden need to oppose him?” Imerati wondered.</p><p>“With adequate help from a few external sources, Mythal’s blessing, the aid from the West Hills Bannorn and a solid plan, maybe thirty to thirty five.” Neimena’s assessment was bleaker than Imerati had expected.</p><p>“We can barely amass fourteen legions across all of Ferelden, and that is under the assumption that all noble’s send almost all their troops save skeleton crews for their fortresses.”</p><p>“Not legions. I need thirty of your companies and about one company of mages and one platoon of dwarven engineers.”</p><p>“You want to oppose over forty-five thousand soldiers with barely three thousand and three hundred soldiers?”</p><p>“Ma falon, I have read these reports. This Gaspard has committed atrocities on our people every day of his life. If any shem ever has been the living embodiment of the shadow of death over Halamshiral, it is him. We will not oppose over forty-five thousand soldiers with barely three thousand and three hundred soldiers. We will finally and irrevocably beat over forty-five thousand soldiers with a force of three thousand and three hundred soldiers.”</p><p>Imerati blinked. She had commissioned these reports from the Dark Wolf, and it wasn’t as much surprising that Neimena had read them in record speed and already drawn conclusions from that. What was surprising is the proposal she made now. “I trust your strategic talent, ma falon, but simply how is this going to work?”</p><p>“Well, that will require a bit of explanation…”</p><p>Describing the general outline of her plan filled over thirty minutes. She had deduced the movements of the Orlesians down to minute details, found a spot to spring a very special set of traps and thought of backup plans and emergency procedures. Her proposal utilized the terrain, the weather and, most vital of all, the Orlesian hubris to its advantage.</p><p>Imerati was, despite her high expectations, quite impressed. “We have three platoons of dwarven soldiers that decided to become Wardens after the Battle of Denerim, among those, there will be enough with the engineering skill to pull off what you propose. What I see still lacking would be where to get the mages.”</p><p>“I hoped you’d provide them, as Queen of Ferelden.”</p><p>Imerati frowned. “With the uncertain templar situation, I can’t guarantee that.”</p><p>From the other side of the room, Anders sighed loudly. “You know, I might know somebody who can help you with that.”</p><p>“What is the problem, then?”</p><p>Anders made a grimace. “We did not part on the best of terms. That is to say, she hates me.”</p><p>Imerati chuckled. “Well, who knew that you, the nicest person in all of Thedas, can be hated?”</p><p>“The point I am trying to make is, she is kind of, somewhat justified in hating me.”</p><p>Now that peaked Imerati’s interest. “What did you do?”</p><p>Anders sighed yet again. “I did a very stupid mistake, let’s leave it at that, okay?”</p><p>“But she can provide mages for this operation?”</p><p>“She will not only provide mages. She’ll probably immediately love the plan so much, she’ll join right in.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A first round of assembling some queer rebels. My favorite kind of character, by the way. I will inevitably have to push around some canon characters, and Anders is among the first to become somewhat altered, at least in the regard of evident misogyny.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Look who the cat dragged in</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Imerati, Leliana, Neimena and Anders meet with an underground network of apostate's and learn about the past of those apostates.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter discusses incarceration, fleeing from incarceration, violence against a marginalized group and briefly mentions temporary non-lethal heart failiure as well as faking one's death.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 23rd day of Solace, late afternoon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ander’s contact had reacted in less than one night. The place they were supposed to meet was only a bit more than half a day of travel from Vigil’s Keep, if they exchanged horses every two hours at key locations on the route. That much were the good news. Imerati’s discomfort began at the point where those contacts demanded to see her in person. It only grew when they added that they did not wish for the presence of soldiers at the meetup’s location. Yes, she could imagine the risks involved in leading an underground apostate network quite well. Yet all of this screamed “ambush” in very loud and very obvious tones. Well, she had trusted Anders, enough so that she had gathered a small party and moved in the direction of the Knottwood Hills. The tavern that they were supposed to meet in lay in the small town of Limewich, twelve miles northwest of the Hills, sandwiched between the Teyrnir of Highever and the Arling of Amaranthine. The local freeholders had a long-standing tradition of switching their fealty from Highever to Amaranthine every two or three years which has lead to both noble dominions losing interest in the place. It was nigh forgotten in most official accounts of the region.</p><p>They had exited the cobbled and still, after thousands of years, massive and imposing imperial highway some time ago. The light of the sun was scattered through the evergreen trees surrounding the meandering path. None of them had more than three hours of sleep the last night, but both Anders, riding as the vanguard, and Neimena, a couple of steps behind Imerati, took it with stride. Anders had gotten grimmer after receiving the letter last night and barely talked the entire way. Neimena, on the other hand, seemed delighted to pass through the area again, even reciting and singing stories from time to time. Sometimes, Imerati and Neimena had exchanged a couple of sentences about them, given that Imerati was always willing to understand the culture she was robbed of more. Yet, it was somewhat difficult holding a conversation loudly enough given that behind Imerati, arms tightly wrapped around the elf’s waist and head against her shoulder and neck, was her sleeping girlfriend. They had decided to share a horse, not for the lack of them, but because they both knew that they might be robbed of such moments of tenderness in the times to come.</p><p>After passing another hilltop, a small valley opened up to their field of view. Scattered next to a small brook, a couple of wooden houses stood there. Imerati counted two dozen buildings, give or take what exactly one defines as a building. Two of them stood aside from the rest at the further end of the valley, separated from the rest of the village by a small strip of trees surrounding a small brook. According to the description on the letter, those were the meeting point. Once they had past the through the fields and the village itself, clearly preoccupied with seasonal harvest and trying not to look at them, they arrived at the tavern. On the main entrance to the three-story tall half-timbered building was a lettering in bright red: “Paws and Rest Tavern”. Imerati did wonder where that name originated from, but her curiosity in the local history of this place had to be counted as less than a tertiary priority. “We are here, vhenan…” she whispered.</p><p>Leliana awoke. “Five more minutes…” she joked.</p><p>“I honestly wish for nothing more than that, but we have a mission to fulfill, my love.”</p><p>Leliana yawned, stretched out her arms and then jumped down from the horse’s back. “Why couldn’t this contact live in Orlais? I would have had more time with you that way…” she lamented.</p><p>Anders had already tied his horse to a post and was brooding. “Well, as the letter read, we are to meet a qunari woman at the bar with purple eyes in the tavern and use the passphrase ‘I know that they use gold as a currency here, but I wish they accepted pyrite’. She’ll respond… what was it again…” He fished in his pocked, from which he took the crumpled letter. “Uhhh… she’ll respond with ‘Those who don’t look closer will not even get the difference, trust me.’ Yes. Anyhow. I will wait here while you talk to them.”</p><p>“This is your contact, Anders. Shouldn’t you lead the conversation?”</p><p>“Really, I don’t see…”</p><p>Neimena rolled her eyes and intervened. “You are going to accompany us. Do I need to make use of my rank, falon’elgar?”</p><p>Anders gaze expressed panic, disbelief and disdain. “Listen, my last encounter with her really wasn’t an especially pleasant situation…”</p><p>Squinting her eyes, Imerati arrived at a conclusion: “Is that… embarrassment in your tone, Anders?”</p><p>“Okay. Listen. I have my reasons for contacting her again. I have my reasons for being here. One of them is that I owe her an apology. You see, we escaped the circle once. Together. I kind of screwed up. Big time. And got captured again. I didn’t know she managed to get out of that situation until very recently when I met an apostate fugitive in Amaranthine who told me of her. Of her network. So yeah.”</p><p>“Given how insistent templars can be, she can hardly blame you for your recapture.”</p><p>“I… look, I’ll go inside with you, and if we meet her in person, it has been an honor serving under you.”</p><p>Imerati shook her head and took the dummy longbows from the satchel attached to her horse. In order not to get recognized, they’d hide their staffs together with untightened longbows loosely covered in loincloth. Not the sneakiest of methods, but most people wouldn’t think further. Especially, she hoped, in a tavern. She pulled her hood closer to her face and pointed to the door. “Shall we?”</p><p> </p><p>The first surprise inside wasn’t that it was a lot darker than outside or the cacophony of acidic smells or the deafening multitude of voices that often hurt in her ears. That was the Thedas custom for any such establishment, especially far from the big cities. No, she had mentally prepared for that. What she absolutely did not expect before was the small legion of furry critters running, rolling and meowing all over the place. There were more cats than she could possibly count, given all other distractions.</p><p>The second surprise was the audible gasp from Anders. “Aw! Are you Mister Wiggum’s sibling? You two look so familiar! Yes you do!” he screamed as he ran into one of the wings of the main room where he was met by the gaze of several unfazed cats.</p><p>“Uh… that was certainly unexpected.” Imerati’s confusion took some seconds to dissipate. “Did he just abandon the mission to go pet a cat?”</p><p>“Yes,” answered Leliana sternly, “what a lack of discipline to lose focus just because of some small animal.”</p><p>“Why are there so many cats here, anyway?” wondered Imerati.</p><p>A dwarven person, evidently working as a waiter, emerged from a small stone archway next to Imerati with a couple of mugs and a plate of steaming food in hand. They had short black hair, a round face, white skin, and a visible beard shadow above purple lips. Same lipstick, Imerati thought in excitement. “This is a cat tavern, miss. Most people come here from all over northern Ferelden. All wanna admire our exquisite and totally not nerve-wrecking small friends here. If ya didn’t know that, a most warm welcome and thank you profoundly for accidentally stumbling into the Paws and Rest Tavern. Now, if ya’ll excuse me…” Their voice had not changed from a very monotonous cadence this entire time. “Attention, everyone! There has been a breach in our nug pen. We need volunteers to help us catch the escaped ones.”</p><p>Leliana rapidly turned to Imerati, grabbed the elf by her shoulders and stared into her eyes with a noticeable chaotic glimmer in her gaze. “NUGS! We need to help them! It is our duty.”</p><p>“Ma vhenan, how about we do like the rest of the patrons do, that is to say, nothing? We are here on important business. I’d rather do many other things, too.”</p><p>Leliana seemed to catch her composure again, taking a step back. “Yes, of course. Sorry, my darling.”</p><p>Imerati turned towards Neimena, sighing. “Is there any animal I need to keep you away from in order to get this done?”</p><p>Neimena chuckled. “Not really, ma falon, even if it turned out they had a field where halla roam behind the shed outside. I am somewhat soft for Ghilan'nain’s kin and like to meet any of them that I can, but I know patience.”</p><p>“We could have asked Velanna if the clan had any halla you could have used as a steed.”</p><p>“While I appreciate the thought, the clan needs them more at this moment of time. And they are quite social creatures, just having one around would be inadequate for them. Though I would appreciate seeing Velanna again, no matter the reason.”</p><p>Right as they stepped through the stone archway, following the sign reading ‘bar’, the dwarf shouted again. “All right, ya clods: Whoever captures the most nugs gets their drinks for free. For the rest of the night. No cheating, all of ya!” In her periphery, Imerati noticed wood scratching against stone and voices shouting against each other.</p><p>The bar, on the left of the room, had several large casks sitting in niches on the adjacent wall. Some of the smaller, empty casks had been opened to the front and were now the retreat for several cats, some sleeping, some on the hunt for flies, some demanding the patrons’ attention. Amidst the chaos, a bard stood in the right corner of the room opposite to them. The color of her eyes approached a bright gold contrasting against her rosy cheeks and white skin, and that, together with her bushy, raised eyebrows, perfectly winged eyeliner and blonde hair, meticulously braided into a long ponytail, captivated Imerati for a moment.</p><p>“It is rather uncommon for bards to recite the Ballad of the Conquering Lion than to sing it, but maybe that’s a localized Ferelden custom I was unaware of,” Leliana whispered, preoccupied with the same person.</p><p>“That’s… not entirely what I was thinking of, but yeah,” said Imerati.</p><p>On the same side of the room as the bard, leaning against a timber support column, was a tall qunari woman whose eyes were such a striking and intense violet that she could only be the contact they were looking for. Approaching carefully and with all the theatrical ability she could muster, she turned to Leliana as if to complain, Imerati exclaimed “I know that they use gold as a currency here, but I wish they accepted pyrite!”.</p><p>The qunari woman chuckled and turned towards Imerati. “Those who don’t look closer will not even get the difference, trust me. Follow me, I could show you some tricks I’ve learned over the years.” Her voice was a lot softer and much more melodic than Imerati ever knew voices could be.</p><p> </p><p>The qunari opened a door only a few steps away from the column and pointed towards a set of stairs leading downward. Leliana, Neimena and Imerati complied after exchanging short glances with each other. Preparing to reach for her staff at a moment’s notice, Imerati was quite tense. Their guide lead them through another set of doors at the end of the stairs into a wine cellar, where she locked the door. Only a few lit torches, partially blocked by caskets, gave some sense of light in the cold room.</p><p>“Would you do me the favor and put down your hoods… Ah, yes, perfect… Incredibly. It is you. Allow me to take some precautions before we speak.” The qunari reached for a staff, well hidden inside the top of a cask. With a swift movement of the unadorned, simple staff, a glowing circle appeared on the door.</p><p>“A sigil of density… to make the door sound-proof?” asked Imerati.</p><p>“Precisely. Welcome to the secret meeting grounds of the Society of Glitter. Now, I know you, Arlessa, but who is accompanying you?”</p><p>“Aneth ara, child of the Qun. I am Neimena of Revanadas. Imerati and I share a common interest in the freedom of our people.”</p><p>“Freedom is an admirable goal indeed, though I am a member of the Qun no longer.”</p><p>“And I am Leliana, Imerati’s girlfriend. Who do we have the pleasure of speaking with?”</p><p>“My friends know me as Meravas. We will be joined by others shortly, until then, we may discuss what you want.”</p><p>Imerati froze. “Wait. Meravas, the Meravas, as in the author of the Aqun-Athlok Manifesto?”</p><p>The qunari tilted her head. “Yes?”</p><p>“Your work might have saved my life back in the circle. It has helped me become someone worthy of myself when I had already fallen apart almost entirely.”</p><p>Meravas smiled. “I am pleased to hear our efforts bore fruit. It took us several attempts to get sorted Qun and Tal-Vashoth texts into Kinloch Hold. When did you read them?”</p><p>“Uhh, that must have been sometime in mid-9:29. It was a really dusty part of the library, squeezed between densely stacked shelves.”</p><p>“Good. That means it might remain there for a while, undetected.” Meravas paused for a moment. “Though it is arguably outdated as things stand.”</p><p>“How so?”</p><p>“The methods described use complicated rites of blood magic or, depending on your needs, herbal tinctures. Those are still difficult to get from time to time, depending on the circumstance. I have made a fascinating discovery back in Guardian last year, underneath the City of Kirkwall, where one can find…”</p><p>The clacking of the door’s lock interrupted her. With a lot of force, the door swung open, and in the doorframe stood the bard, her hands against her hips. Stepping inside, the bard waited until the door close behind herself and the sigil started glowing again. She threw her arms outwards and looked at the group.</p><p>“Welcome and a glorious evening to you all! I trust you find this cozy space to your liking?”</p><p>Leliana looked around. “I mean, there are meeting spaces probably less apt for such an occasion…”</p><p>The bard interrupted her. “Wonderful! It is also the only such secluded space we have and we work very hard on keeping it secret so I’d be much obliged if it be kept that way! Heroine, I am most delighted to meet you! Your straightforward and bold demand towards the Queen at her coronation was a historic moment for all mages in Thedas!”</p><p>Neimena looked mistrustingly. “This is the center of operations for your underground network?”</p><p>“Well, no! That is one set of steps and magical and physical barriers deeper than this! I am afraid we can’t go there at this point in time, we are still waiting on our amazing partner with the third key…”</p><p> </p><p>Like on command, there was commotion on the other side of the door. This time, when the door swung open, an Anders flew in, face first, onto the floor. Several things now happened at once: Leliana drew her bow and knocked in an arrow, pointing its tip at the bard and standing protectively in front of Imerati. Imerati herself had frozen, unable to process the situation. Neimena drew her sword, its blue and silver metal reflecting the torches, and went into a defensive fighting stance between Anders and the bard. The bard had tilted her right hand downwards and the tip of her staff towards the ground, summoning flames in her left hand. Meravas had put her hand on the bard’s shoulder in an attempt at de-escalation. Through the door had stepped a dwarf, kicking the door shut with one leg and pointing their dagger at Anders, lying on the ground, moaning in pain.</p><p>“That sodding clod fucking tried to listen on the door, thought I’d might introduce ya to him,” the dwarf said.</p><p>“Maybe we should wait and talk for one sec…” attempted the qunari before being cut short by the bard’s growl.</p><p>“ANDERS!” she yelled.</p><p>“Ouch… yes, this is exactly how I pictured this reunion…” murmured Anders, still on the floor.</p><p>“Oh, I should have been suspicious at the anonymous letter, but it was such a titillating suggestion it was to meet the one and only Heroine of Ferelden, I just could not resist! I should have known it was you pulling the strings all along! How long until the templars storm this place, TRAITOR?” she exclaimed.</p><p>Meravas was struggling to keep her back. “Sapphia, he apparently knows the Heroine’s entourage, maybe we should let him explain his presence first?”</p><p>“Heroine, what could this man possibly have to do with you? Has he told you that he barely cost me my hard-earned freedom after it was I who gave him a way to escape?” inquired the woman whose name apparently was Sapphia.</p><p>Imerati was still unable to think. “I, uh, wow…”</p><p>“First of all, I am not with the templars! I am as free as you. Secondly, do I have the permission to stand up?” intervened Anders.</p><p>It was the qunari who stepped forward and helped Anders back on his feet. With a calm, but demanding tone, she suggested: “How about we all put our weapons away and sort this out in the spirit of mage solidarity?”</p><p>Sapphia snorted with rage, but she lowered her staff. Leliana, Neimena and the dwarf followed suit in putting back their weapons.</p><p>“I know we didn’t have the chance to really discuss this back at that… fateful night, but I am really sorry for…” tried Anders.</p><p>“You got yourself recaptured and I barely escaped!”</p><p>“It was an accident…”</p><p>“YOU FLIRTED WITH A FUCKING TEMPLAR!”</p><p>“Okay, yes, but you have seen her, too, you’d have flirted with her if I hadn’t been fir…”</p><p>Sapphia gasped. “Anders! The sheer audacity to compare your rambling to my carefully crafted flirts! Professionals have standards and most of all I DON’T FLIRT WITH THE ENEMY! Especially when we are running from said enemy! That’s a very simple concept, Anders! If the bar was any lower, Orzammar might have legitimate claim for it! ”</p><p>“In my defense, she wore plain-clothes, and…” It was not Anders day for being able to finish sentences.</p><p>“Anders, how come you didn’t tell us of this? It seems quite mission-critical…” inquired Leliana.</p><p>“Yeah, Saph, how come that this is the first time I hear that story?” the dwarf wondered.</p><p>Meravas chuckled. “You know our love, Hekka. She told you, multiple times, it was just against her nature not to embellish this story.”</p><p>Sapphia send an angry glance to the qunari. “First, I need you to help me unlock the Headquarters. I am in desperate need for at least one coffee before I can begin to describe the events any further.”</p><p> </p><p>The secret entrance to their headquarters was right in the corner of the wine cellar. Into three inconspicuous gaps between the stones fit one ring Meravas, Sapphia and Hekka wore respectively. Imerati assumed the mechanism was dwarven in origin. From the trapdoor that unlocked on the ground, a spiral ramp lead downwards for a couple of rotations until another set of doors appeared. They opened a way to a decently sized cavern, filled with fireplaces, rugs chaotically draped over all the floors that were flat enough, bookcases, tables and chairs and the occasional couch with a random assortment of pillows. Through the caverns, Sapphia explained in detail, ran a stream of freshwater, and at several ends of the cavern, there were numerous narrowing tunnels connecting them to the outside, providing the flow of fresh air at all times. “And that’s how quite the grand number of people can live here, freely, in relative safety from templar persecution. Currently, we have two dozen apostate’s in permanent refuge here…”</p><p>“It’s twenty-three, actually,” corrected Meravas.</p><p>Imerati had been too polite to ask who the people they passed earlier were, but now she had an answer. When they arrived at a spacious dead end of one of the tunnels that had several couches, chairs, pillows and stools arranged in a half-circle, Sapphia motioned them to take seats. Neimena went for a wooden rocking chair, rocking back and forth to a melody she was humming. Leliana went for a comically large Orlesian wing chair and Imerati squeezed herself into the space between her girlfriend and the armrest. The triad cuddled together on a Nevarran couch. Anders, refusing to choose, leaned against the wall.</p><p>“So, the fabulous story of my escape from Kinloch Hold”, began Sapphia, seemingly delighted by the opportunity to dramatically describe her memory, “a real adventure in the summer of 28. It was my true conviction to leave the shackles of the circle before the templars dragged me into the deadly trap that is the Harrowing. The problem was that I was such proficient a mage that my demise at their hands was but inevitable. So, the night before my eighteenth birthday, I made use of a plan I had devised for a long time. Most apostates who had ran from the circle before did so by swimming across the lake or leaving with an expedition and running on the land from the docks. But I was more bold and admittedly, even more desperate. I chose… to fly. So, I went in one of the rooms on the second floor where no templar was stationed and tore a giant tapestry from the wall with a mostly silent spell. The one I had chosen was rectangular and was secured on both the top and the bottom by a wooden staff. All I needed besides it was a suitable counterweight capable of producing directed fire, and Anders here was the ideal candidate for this endeavor. He had been part of this plan from moment one, I had trusted him like a brother, and that trust would be so terribly betrayed later on. Quick as the wind, we went to the third floor, used a ladder to reach one of the windows, broke it, went unto the ledge outside, unfolded the tapestry, tied ourselves with two ropes each to the ends of the wooden staffs of the tapestry, and jumped of the ledge. See, the tapestry was large enough to provide serious air resistance. By directing short synchronized burst of fire into the center of mass of this apparatus, there was a lot of updrift of warm air that managed to slow our fall even more. We managed to get half a mile in before a gust of wind pushed us down too much and we landed in water, far outside the reach of any templar boat with normal speed.”</p><p>Leliana was curious. “The templars didn’t intervene?”</p><p>“How could they? Getting the tapestry from the wall was largely done silently, it took very little effort to get it to floor three, and from the breaking of the glass to the jump, they barely had the time to run into the room. They may have unleashed hell unto the ground but the sky is still unreachable for their claws. Anyhow, while the rest of the lake was easy enough to swim through, templars started to hunt us the moment we set foot on the lake’s shore. Took us two full days of an intense cat-and-mouse game, constantly evading templar ambushes, to the small village of Mereting. The stage of a betrayal! There was a small inn in that town, for which we rented a cozy little chamber for the night. Given that we had made quite some lead over the hunting party, it seemed like an excellent time to rest. While laying down in the bed, Anders had suggested going to the crowded bar to find something to eat, and I had honestly and sincerely believed he was talking about a meal.”</p><p>The look on Anders face had finally completely ventured into the territory of shame and a suppressed desire to protest.</p><p>“But, a few seconds later, I decided to follow him downstairs, as I did not know what he would order. And that man – “, she shouted almost while pointing her finger at Anders, who buried his face in his hands “ – had the absolute gall to pull down his hood, approach a woman sitting at one of the tables and flirting with her. It was my moment to back off and hers to draw her sword. She was a templar-seeker liaison, arresting Anders on the spot and pointing one of her all too eager followers towards me. In desperation and anger, I ran upstairs, templars a breath away from me. Back in the room, the door-lock could but buy me a few seconds. Given that this was the first floor, I had but one way out: Through the window. It was a risk, yes, but I would not be captured, not so easily at least. So, I took a brief look and jumped outside.”</p><p>“If you wonder how she managed to still run after that, she literally fell for, or rather on, me” interjected Meravas.</p><p>“Yes. It wasn’t exactly love at first sight, but in her brilliance, she instantly recognized my situation and aided me in precisely the way I needed it.”</p><p>Meravas shrugged. “I was shadowing the seekers for a couple of days anyhow, and I know the face of one who runs from authority, even if they fall into me. Putting one and one together wasn’t hard.”</p><p>Imerati spoke for the first time in a while. “If… if you don’t mind my question, how did you avoid being tracked by a phylactery? That seems a difficult task indeed, given that a phylactery only expires if the person the blood belongs to dies.”</p><p>Sapphia grinned wildly, indicating that she not only expected this question, but also felt quite sly for the answer she’d give. “Correct.”</p><p>“…well, how did you do it?”</p><p>“You already gave the answer. It is so simple: I died.” The dramatic pause that followed was clearly Sapphia’s anticipated climax for her soliloquy. Looking at her face, she clearly reveled in this moment.</p><p>“See, the phylacteries work by blood magic, and that works as long as the blood flows through the body of the victim of templar oppression. So, it was quite elementary: Stop my heartbeat for a short moment of time and present the templars with a body. The latter was easy. We staged an encounter with the hunting party next to an abandoned small hut in the middle of a clearing in a forest north of Selating. There, we positioned a body that would pass as mine well enough at the end, one we had stolen from the cloister morgue of Selating. We set a fire to start after a short while. We, ourselves, hid in a cave that had a tunnel almost directly under the hut, which would throw off the proximity indication of the phylactery. When we heard the templars approach, the fire was already engulfing the hut, and I cast a specialized death vortex on myself. While my consciousness faded, Meravas was already casting a healing spell.”</p><p>“Yes, and it didn’t work! Your grand plan failed! I had to frantically use contained lightning magic because you were so overambitious on the death vortex that normal healing spells failed. I thought I lost you!” cried out Meravas.</p><p>“But you didn’t, my love! You did everything right! I am dead in official templar and chantry documentation now!”</p><p>“It would not have been worth losing you!”</p><p>“The first time I saw your face but a week before, but no force in Thedas could tear me from your beauty. Death was an acceptable peril if it meant getting a chance to stay at your side! I took a risk and this reward means everything to me.”</p><p>Imerati heard Leliana whisper “romantic”. Imerati wasn't sure if that had been sarcasm.</p><p>“And how did you two bell’lath love birds meet Hekka?” was Neimena’s question.</p><p>“That is entirely caused by their inability to shut up.” Hekka laughed. “Really, those two adorable clods are as steadfast in a fight as they come, but Andraste’s tits, they can’t plan for stealth.” They laughed, once again, this time louder. “See, they tried to sneak into the tower during a templar shift change, that’s the intelligent part, but they conversed so loudly. The Carta group I ran lyrium smuggling gigs with noticed. So, those two try to convince us to help them, good cause and all, and my boss turned to us and said: ‘They’ll fetch an excellent price, let’s make them think we are on their side and then rat them out’. But the twos said that they wanted to help a kid who escaped the circle, trying to destroy their blood tracker, trying to not get them killed for apostacy and all that? And ya know, I saw those kids in the circle, many times over. Couldn’t do it. Was never really considering it that much before but I had to draw a line at something that was just plain good and something that was kinda the opposite, ya know? So I told them in advance, kinda from desperation, but also kinda standing up, went by my instinct, right? So there’s this big argument, and the templars notice us, and Carta guys start fighting, and we threes escaped through one of the secret tunnels in all the commotion. Helped them destroy the phylactery later on. That day, we founded this entire operation.”</p><p>“And from their first day on our side, they were a vital centerpiece to our Society! Besides Meravas extensive memory and my outstanding performances, their handiwork fits right into our tools to destroy the tyranny of the templars!”</p><p>Imerati agreed. “Networks to relay information and ressources, a clear and defined message and strategic planning are the cornerstones of any such movement.”</p><p>Meravas nodded. “The Society of Glitter will always support the freedom of mages, no matter what is needed to achieve it. Our network spans all of Thedas, next to these twenty-three apostates here, we support over forty-five individuals, most of them in hiding somewhere in Orlais or Ferelden. We also offer moral support, because there is a lot of stress and loneliness in apostacy, we take care of phylacteries in quantities without getting noticed, or sometimes, we take the very dangerous route Sapphia showed to be possible. But we also smuggle texts in and out of circles, preserve knowledge, experiment. My manifesto, the one you read? Its presence in the library is courtesy of our first infiltration of Kinloch Hold, back when we met Hekka. We also offer extractions to contacts in circles, had five of those in the last year. This tavern is an excellent front for our society, and it follows one of our principles that we modeled after Sapphia’s modus operandi: ‘Don’t avoid the spotlight, but seek it so obnoxiously that everyone is rolling their eyes too hard to focus on what exactly you do.’ Neither food deliveries here nor people coming and going from and to all of Thedas are particularly unexplainable phenomena in the context of this establishment. When people look closer, they see cat ladies, shake their head and think they know everything now.”</p><p>For a second, the qunari searched for any more information of relevance. “We currently have fifteen operatives in direct communication with us in the field, but associates and allies counted, especially the networks in the Free Marches that work semi-independently from us, we count more than two hundred contacts.”</p><p>Anders chimed in. “From what I heard, I thought you were enacting half a revolution, but this clearly isn’t like that.”</p><p>Sapphia was salty. “Oh, and what is a revolution, man who tripped over his own hornyness while running for his own life? Giant banners and parades and music? Is there no place for compassion and solidarity next to enormous explosions that tear apart the structures of power? Uplifting a livable, working, running alternative, not crumbling under the vile force brought forth against us, that is as much a revolution as actively killing templars. The survival of an apostate is a revolution in itself.”</p><p>She sighed. “Though you have, hidden somewhere behind all that nonsense of yours, a point. In all this, we are missing out on a lot of potential for more aggressive tactics. Speaking of which, your letter included certain hints at the necessity for fighting, free mages. What is your goal in this world, my Heroine?”</p><p>Imerati cleared her throat. The “my” in front of “Heroine” had thrown her thoughts out of balance again. “Uhhh… In the long run? Our goal is the liberation of all beings in Thedas and the acceptance of those gifted with magic by the general society. The angle we need to take is multi-faceted; there can be no freedom for all when my people are still without rights, and for that to work, we also need to independence of the common folk from the aristocracy and the monarchy. All of this means also reforming the Chantry from the ground up. And I promise you, if I had my way in Thedas, neither the spires in Minrathous nor Val Royeaux would stand for a second longer. Halamshiral and the Dales belong to the Dalish. No authority shall ever deny someone’s right to freely design their lives, to food, to shelter, to education. The cooperation of all individuals will lift everyone up to the dignity they are entitled to.”</p><p>There was silence for a few seconds. “Strong words, purple lips, sodding strong words…” whispered Hekka.</p><p>Imerati looked confused. “Your lipstick is purple as well?”</p><p>“Just acknowledging it, ya clod.”</p><p>Sapphia was the first to voice her thoughts. “Of course! Many of the structures by which Dalish manage to integrate magic into their societies are exemplary. If Thedas was willing to listen to Dalish and follow their example more, we could reach a world of freedom for all within weeks. Undeniably, it is the Chantry who poisons the minds of the many for only a minor gain in power.”</p><p>“The direction you wish to take is most admirable, but how will you get there?” wondered Meravas.</p><p>“Allow me to give you the short version, and if you find my plan agreeable, I can share some of the details and follow-up ideas…” began Neimena.</p><p>After she learned the plan, Meravas began to frown slightly. “Not that I don’t agree, but we may barely find twenty to thirty mages willing to undergo such a risk.”</p><p>“Unless…” Sapphia’s eyes began to glisten.</p><p>“No, absolutely not. That is both unnecessarily risky in its execution and its reward. We don’t know how many will follow.”</p><p>“Wasn’t it your last report that spoke of at least six among eight of them who know of us who want to join?”</p><p>“You can’t just extrapolate…”</p><p>Now, Leliana had to intervene. “What are you referring to?”</p><p>“Saph’s pet project. Operation Burning Chains. Liberating the entire tower from templars,” answered Hekka.</p><p>“With not only the support but the explicit permission by the future Queen of Ferelden, we have the first opportunity ever to successfully carry this dream into the realms of reality!” insisted Sapphia.</p><p>“How many mages would actually support us?” inquired Neimena.</p><p>“See, that is the problem. Our very few contacts stand mostly in complete support with us, and there has been very careful resistance after the templars did only intervene with hostility in the catastrophe that the Heroine ended fourteen months ago. Given that we’d act in her name and for her, we might see, estimating with a lot of care, two thirds of a liberated circle joining her army.”</p><p>“How much exactly?”</p><p>“Between fifty and sixty. Certainly most of the elves and most of the younger mages. But I can’t tell you for sure. If we go the path Sapphia certainly wants me to mention, which would be a mission doomed for failure, the group liberated from Kinloch Hold could liberate the circle in Jainen within a week, given some transport from Selating to the Isles. Even conservatively estimating, Jainen would at least double that number. They have been much more open of their disdain for the templars for a long time.”</p><p>Neimena nodded and turned towards Imerati. “With the help of the Society’s own free mages and the circle mages, this will work.”</p><p>Imerati agreed profusely. “Of course. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you. The liberation of both circles should be a priority no matter what.”</p><p>Sapphia squealed and started conversing with Imerati. Neimena and Hekka started discussing some of the finer details of the battle plans, with the occasional political input from Leliana. After some minutes, as she left her seat and went for the tunnels, Anders turned towards Meravas.</p><p>“You are the one who is in contact with all the circles, yes? Can I ask you about the state of a mage I was separated from?”</p><p>“I certainly don’t keep tabs on every circle mage in Thedas, but I’ll try. What’s his name?”</p><p>“Karl Thekla.”</p><p>“Follow me, I’ll look into our archives.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>“And here we find a most cozy and warm chamber, certainly fit for a couple as cute as you. I’ll leave you to it, but if any one of you two or both of you have need for my company later on, I would certainly be happy to comply with that desire.” Sapphia winked towards Imerati. “You know where to find me!”</p><p>“…I…uh…” Imerati was positively overwhelmed by the proposal.</p><p>“We’ll see, later on, and we will inform you if need be,” promised Leliana as she stepped through the curtain that functioned as the door to a niche of the tunnel Sapphia had guided them towards. Imerati stumbled after her.</p><p>For the next few minutes, they spooned, silently savoring the moment, Leliana sometimes kissing Imerati’s neck.</p><p>“It is such a shame we will part from each other’s side once again tomorrow morning” lamented Leliana.</p><p>“Directly to Val Royeaux, I assume?”</p><p>“Yes. From Highever, per boat.”</p><p>“No chance you’ll join me for the fighting in Denerim?”</p><p>“I’ll try my best, my rose, but we need the Grand Cathedral and the White Spire stunned for the first month after your coronation. I need to make sure Neimena’s plan will not be jeopardized by a sudden unofficial exalted march. Furthermore, I need the Divine’s assurance she’ll respect the decision of the Landsmeet on paper. I need a public declaration of it, at best. That’ll be the final piece of the puzzle. I’ll try my best to hurry back to Denerim as fast as possible.”</p><p>Imerati sighed. “Of course I understand, and you speak the truth, but still, why do you you have to leave my side again?”</p><p>“You’ll do amazingly, I know that.”</p><p>“The very same goes for you.”</p><p>“By the way, you are so adorable when you have a crush…”</p><p>“I don’t have a crush! On whom am I supposed to have a crush?”</p><p>Leliana laughed. “Sapphia, of course. Everybody in the meeting room noticed that, save for Anders and you.”</p><p>“I… Ugh. Yes. I might. She is stunning, okay, have you seen her eyes or heard the force behind her voice?”</p><p>“Again, it is very cute to see you this flustered.”</p><p>“I’ll give you flustered!” Imerati shouted as she spun around and started tickling a very loudly laughing Leliana. Both would agree in the morning that the night had been way too short.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My scribble brainstorming the story for this chapter was “mage underground mutual aid network disguised as a cat café”.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Breaking circles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Meravas, Zevran, Hekka and Sapphia are on seperate parts of the mission to get the circle tower to revolt.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter discusses incarceration, violence against a marginalized group and abuse and murder of marginalized people by a group framed to be enforcers of the law in graphic detail.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 29th day of Solace, late morning</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When a plan tries to prepare for more and more eventualities, it gets more and more complicated. The more complicated a plan gets, the more potential points of failure it has. Meravas tried not to think about it too hard as the small group marched in unison towards the docks at Kinloch Hold. She was accompanying the dozen wardens in light armor, six of them carrying weapons, the other six holding the banners of the Grey Wardens. How ironic to march a group of wardens to essay liberating a prison.</p><p>“Is that nervousness I sense in you, my friend? It isn’t the best look, especially that frown on your face might be enough to make some jittery templar draw their sword.” Zevran voice framed his words as a joke, the words themselves spoke of jeopardy for the mission, but it had taken Meravas less than five minutes in the assassin’s presence to pick up the actual truth. That elf cared about the wellbeing of the people around him.</p><p>“I am as ready for this mission as I’ll ever be.” She answered truthfully yet flaunted the actual answer. She was terrified, knowing that her partners will be separated and that they would be in danger, knowing that everything they had built together would be in jeopardy.</p><p>“The role of spokesperson will fall completely to me, be not afraid. You are here as my military attaché, the woman with the wit and information. I’ll introduce you, just like that, and you’ll have to but salute.” His reassurance was a genuine attempt, but he had missed the actual source of her fear.</p><p>“As we agreed upon.” She nodded and stepped into the boat.</p><p>The main entrance to the circle tower was a huge gate in a pointed arch, and once Zevran had announced their diplomatic intentions, the gate opened to the inside. When they entered, they were greeted by a templar in heavy armor with short, wild hair.</p><p>“Welcome. We did not expect a diplomatic encounter with wardens, not after those awful zealots... uh, I mean, given the present situation. My name is Hadley, I represent Knight-Commander Greagoir until he may join us. Please, take a seat.” His voice was insecure, he jumped from information to information as if reciting a script he barely had had the time to learn. Plus, any sense of etiquette she believed she had deduced from Fereldens would point to introductions before sitting down. Letting her gaze wander, she took in her surroundings. She counted twenty, no, twenty-one templars in the room with them most of them around the large column in the middle, plus two at the door. There should be around fifty templars guarding the circle now, give or take. Shit. The detachment of Wardens should have attracted more than thirty templar soldiers in the original plan. What would they do now? It took her a while to notice his outstretched arm, pointing towards a large squared table with three seats on each side.</p><p>“I distinctly remember that the last time I was here, there were two tables with boardgames on them there. I always wondered why they were here, a taunt to those templars always positioned at the doors perhaps?” Zevran asked and handed Hadley a document signed by the Heroine acknowledging him as a Captain of the Warden Army.</p><p>“Last time you were here, you did not carry an official title with the wardens, Captain Arainai, did you?” said Hadley after studying the document for ten seconds.</p><p>“Last time I was here, any Warden of rank was officially dead or officially declared an enemy of the state as crown-killers. It would appear the tables have turned.”</p><p>The templar let out a short, forceful laugh, masking very thinly distrust, fear, a belief in superiority and an unwillingness to admit defeat. “Say, who are your companions?”</p><p>“This is a military attaché of the Warden’s newly formed Magic Division.” Meravas saluted wordlessly, as was the script. “These soldiers are part of my company, the First Reconnaissance Division.” Zevran took a seat, Meravas followed suit. Hadley took place on the other side of the table.</p><p>“So, what brings you to the circle?” the templar asked, but there was not the nervousness Meravas would have expected.</p><p>“This document, signed be the Arlessa of Amaranthine, Warden-Commander of Ferelden and twice Heroine of Ferelden Imerati Surana makes me her representative and allows me to use the Right of Conscription as I see fit.” Zevran’s diplomatic voice was only very slightly differentiated from a voice Meravas would usually associate with an assassin having a last conversation with his target.</p><p>“Ah, a recruitment mission. There are two survivors of last weeks batch of Harrowings, mages surely fit for your army, that I can send for…” The templar’s words made Meravas blood boil, but she had learned to hold her composure. The Harrowings were a mandatory potential death sentence used to keep the young mages silent. Two out of how many, yet the number of those who died wasn’t even relevant for this asshole.</p><p>Zevran wasn’t taking the bait. “I’d rather have discussed this matter with the Knight-Commander, when will he join us?”</p><p>“As I said, I’ll work as a perfectly fit representative, just like you represent your Commander.”</p><p>As Zevran did not answer to this assertion by the templar, Hadley continued. “How many recruits do you wish for exactly? There are certainly a handful of mages here capable of doing quite the damage in a war.”</p><p>“A handful might not suffice.”</p><p>“How many do you need, then?”</p><p>“Everyone in this circle.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Hekka looked at the ceiling of the aisle they were traversing. Shoddy work, at best. Malevolent dilapidation, at worst. They had used one of the old lyrium smuggling tunnels to arrive at the level of the circles that were below ground. These parts were at least common to them. To many times to count they had taken these exact steps. Sure, different company; the two people behind her were young mages that were bored in the caverns. Understandably so, Hekka had added at every opportunity the two brought it up. For this part of the mission, they had prioritized firepower and stealth and they wanted at least one blood mage as backup. If everything was as the reports indicated, the phylacteries were at the same spot as always. But if they weren’t, a blood mage might have some insight on how to find them.</p><p>As they wanted to go through one the arches of the lower levels of the circle (the one who had one piece of sandstone in one column, as contrasted by all the grey of locally quarried stone), they heard clanking from the side. Hekka immediately pressed themselves against the wall behind the column. Halberd struggled to regain his balance as he didn’t expect the sudden change of pace, only to grabbed on the shoulder and pushed behind the other column by Ice who immediately joined him. The sentinel, much to Hekka’s dismay, turned to walk through the arch they were hiding behind. After exchanging a quick glance with Halberd and Ice, all three nodded. Ice spun around from behind the column and dropped the temperature of the metal of the animated suit of armor. Before it could try to unfreeze or react, Halberd jabbed the tip of his burning staff through the top of the chest piece of the sentinels, which shattered open. Hekka sprang from their cover, reached into the shattered armor and tore out the piece of lyrium that was powering the armor. Less than four seconds after they made themselves seen, the sentinel collapsed into a lifeless pile of armor pieces.</p><p>“That’s the fourth so far that isn’t moved by a spirit” Ice established. “The templar’s grip seems to be slipping even more than anticipated. Lucky us.”</p><p>He had been the first to notice that there were new sentinels in employ. These, powered by lyrium and sigils, were considerably weaker than the spirit-possessed counterparts familiar to the mage who ran away from the circle five years ago.</p><p>“Sorry for almost running into you, Hekka. I’ll be more focused.” Halberd was looking only half present despite that promise.</p><p>“No prob, ya’re supposed to reach out by magic anyhow. Seeing any change yet?”</p><p>“No, not really. There is the faint pulse of templar-prepared blood in the direction and distance you pointed to as well. Sometimes, it becomes fainter and then jumps back up again, but I guess that is to be expected under the circumstances.” He shrugged.</p><p>Halberd was the one who suggested using his knowledge of blood magic as a compass to the phylactery chamber. So far, that had been in line with Hekka’s maps of the place.</p><p>“I am still uncertain if this ‘I have a theory but I’ll test it only when push comes to shove’ approach of yours is the best option we have, Maurice” commented Ice.</p><p>“Don’t you trust my extensive intuition, forged by years of using blood magic, any longer?” Halberd sounded genuinely hurt.</p><p>“I trust your magical ability with my life. I just hate the uncertainty of not having that branch of magic open to myself.”</p><p>“Hugo… are you jealous of me?”</p><p>“How could I be, given that your abilities all manifested fully formed, several schools at once, while I had to study years to perfect one aspect of one branch of magic?” Ice sighed. “Oh no, I am not at all jealous of the most handsome, most powerful mage this side of the Frostback Mountains. I am just often enough unsure why you want me at all.”</p><p>Hekka rolled their eyes. “Ya two, take a break and discuss your self-worth issues, but sodding hurry! There’s a mission to do, ya know.”</p><p>They had been the first to notice the two mages getting together, one year ago. Ice and Halberd had been roommates from the beginning, and the two always spent so much time together. Hekka didn’t mean to push the assumption around, but they sure wasn’t surprised the day they came out. The dwarf had given out nicknames they deemed appropriate; Halberd’s staff had a tip that was comically large and formed like an axe, and Ice was very proficient at freezing stuff. They always liked choosing people in relationships for missions. Working in unison was something that many couples within the Society became quite proficient at.</p><p>For a moment, they brought up the map of the lower levels to their mind’s eye. To the left for seventy-nine steps, seventeen steps of stairs up, twenty-three steps of a descending tunnel, to the right, fifteen steps, through a hidden entrance in the walls, and then they’d be in the hall of curiosities next to the phylactery chamber. Should be doable without problems.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Light was breaking through the stained-glass windows of the Great Hall, bathing the spacious room in a kaleidoscope of light. Sapphia had noticed, to her satisfaction, that parts of the windows had been replaced with a stone wall. Well, that wasn’t the only architectural change to the room; they had added a door towards the center of the tower at the central wall, but there was something special about that window. Specifically, the one she had destroyed to start her escape from the shackles of the circle. That night, it had been more of an obstacle to get the ladder on the bookcases than she’d ever liked to admit. But she also knew that she’d been the first ever to survive an escape attempt through the windows. She also knew that the templars used to make jokes about the desperation that lead to many trying to climb down from the windows. It would only fuel her fury, and she’d need every bit of rage to channel for the speech she would perform now.</p><p>The room was quickly filling with the circle’s mages for the weekly convening of the fraternities. Well, some consider non-enchanters incapable of choosing a fraternity. However, it was established in Kinloch Hold for young apprentices and mages without apprentices to support one fraternity or the other. That had been custom since Irving became First Enchanter twenty-one years ago. Sapphia shook her head. She had little faith in those theatrics of representation without any power, but knowing that First Enchanter Irving had ruled for as long as she lived was something she had even less ability to understand. How is one not corrupted to the bone after a lifetime of unchallenged privileges?</p><p>In a semi-circle around the central stage of the Great Hall were the benches of the fraternities, filled with the one dozen of full enchanters that the circle had. However, behind them, sitting sometimes on various stools, cushions and wheelchairs, standing up and leaning against the walls, were the mages not yet allowed to officially become members of a fraternity. Those sectors of political opposition were separated from one another by boxes stacked upon each other, building up clear lines of separation. Those boxes, so the official templar declaration, had been installed to keep angry mages from attacking other fraternities. Obviously, their actual purpose was to keep a crowd capable of challenging the templars from forming.</p><p>Sapphia leaned against a giant stone pillar to the left of the center stage, one of her legs angled so that she could rest the sole of one foot against the pillar. She was wearing a chantry sister’s robe with a headpiece concealing her eyes behind a thin silk veil. Anders was in movement a few feet away from her. He wore full leather and chainmail armor with a leather helmet concealing but his eyes, a traditional outfit used by the Ferelden militaries in scout companies. Officially, she was Grand Sister Edith of the Grand Cloister in Denerim, here on behalf of the Sunburst Throne’s Representative in Ferelden. Anders was – officially – a city guard from Denerim recruited as the cloister’s own guard who was here as a bodyguard during her travels to the circle. At least Leliana’s office had brought her the ability to sign official documents, and those documents were enough that the templars at the tower’s gate hadn’t blinked twice about letting them in. It had amused Sapphia greatly to see their numbers so depleted that they didn’t stop to control their identities. And it had been the only source of amusement so far, because she hated the Chantry as much as the Templar Order – wearing this particular disguise, playing that particular role, even only temporarily, was a nightmare of epic proportions. Back when she first heard that the Heroine of Ferelden, such an exemplary mage, had fallen in love with a chantry sister, she believed it vile propaganda spread by chantry apologists. Leliana had turned out more reliable than Sapphia had expected, that was certain. Yet Sapphia believed it still futile to try to change the chantry from the inside.</p><p> </p><p>“The doors are secured, Your <em>Holiness</em>.” Anders had a lot of fun addressing her in her role, mostly because he knew how much it stung in her rebel heart.</p><p>“Thank you <em>kindly</em> for your assistance.” She would not break role, not yet.</p><p>“Always, Your Holiness.” Sapphia could see him smile under his helmet. Asshole. At least his signal was a good sign. It transferred the information that he had secretly, under the guise of security checks in his role as bodyguard, placed sigils next to the doors. If push came to shove – when push came to shove, she smirked – it would give them the advantage against the templars.</p><p>It would seem Ander’s task had concluded right in time, given that no more mages seemed to arrive in the room. From his bench in the middle of the semi-circle, Irving rose slowly and walked onto the stage. For a moment, he just stood there, waiting for the rooms attention to focus on him.</p><p>“Honored members of the Templar Order, honored Representatives of the Chantry, my fellow enchanters, dear guests,” he began his speech. Sapphia rolled her eyes. This address reeked of status quo so much already.</p><p>He continued. “Before we begin todays gathering of the fraternities, there is a cherished guest of the circle who brings news from the capital. As some of you are still young, I might have to introduce some aspects of the Chantry’s Holy Structure to you…” His gaze turned towards the libertarian fraternity on the left, only represented by one enchanter. Behind her, however, were over fifty mages, overcrowding the sector assigned to the fraternity. Sapphia shuddered at the faces she saw there. Most were barely teenagers. On their minds were probably less the politics of circle administration but why they weren’t allowed to see their parents again. She had read the reports before, it shouldn’t shock her that much. She had been informed that the Blight helped manifest many young people’s magical abilities, and that the templars had gone on an abduction spree. But she hadn’t been made this painfully aware of their suffering yet. She made a mental note to make every single templar in Thedas pay twice for this.</p><p>Irving always was eager to laud the Chantry. “As some of you know, the Chantry is led by the Divine. Most of the cloisters and chantries in Ferelden and Orlais are subservient to the local Grand Clerics.  Some, however, are directly administrated by the Divine herself! The Grand Cloisters and their grounds are exempt from the laws of the country they are in. The sisters serving in those Cloisters are directly chosen by the Divine herself and represent the most pious and holy women within the Chantry!” What the old white man failed to mention was that the Grand Cloisters were as young as some of the children he addressed. They had started as a clever invention by Divine Beatrix III to circumvent the power of the local grand clerics. Sapphia added a few bonus points of fury to her list. Those young, scared souls were beaten up until they revered ever shifting empty symbols of power.</p><p>“It is my great honor to introduce Grand Sister Edith of Denerim!”</p><p>He stepped down from the stage and pointed her to it before taking his seat again. Urgh. As if she wasn’t capable of finding the way herself. She straightened her back, moved fluidly, her gaze directed at the steps to the stage. With stride, she approached the lectern. Feet firmly on the ground at the appropriate position, she rested her hands on the lectern and waited. Looked around. Most of the loyalist and aequitarian enchanters looked at her with reverence, as did the mages in the sectors behind them, mostly old men. From the libertarian side came looks frightened and vaguely disgusted. Good. That was her true audience. The three templars in the room, one at every door, just seemed to stare into the nothing. Good. They already saw their fate coming.</p><p>“My fellow souls!” she began. Irving still smiled, strangely. Yet, the loyalist enchanters – chantry apologists – on the right benches looked as if they had seen a ghost. It wasn’t normal for a sister to address mages as equals.</p><p>“I bring grave and tragic news from the capital! Most of you have heard the Heroine of Fereldens demand at Queen Anora’s coronation to release the shackles of the templar’s iron fist crushing all of you!” There was a palpable silence in the room. The loyalists blinked as if distrustful of their senses. The libertarians waited for the catch. Sapphia still had at least ten seconds before the first templars would notice something is wrong.</p><p>“As the Heroine has survived being in this circle first-hand, she has every right and every reason to make such a demand, by experience! Wasn’t it she who helped you all when the weight of this oppression turned into tragedy a year ago? Wasn’t she the one who saved all of Thedas and every living soul from the clutches of the Blight? As it was a just demand, Queen Anora could not deny it. Yet, she postponed the final decision for months, a coward fearing the Order more than the continued destruction of souls within these halls!” The loyalist’s leader’s jaw dropped to the floor. There was a bit of individual, cautious applause from the side of the libertarians. Neither Irving nor the templars moved.</p><p>“Yet her cowardice was a fool’s shield! It did not save her from the fury of templar pigs, unable to see themselves stripped of their lust for mage blood. On the 19th of this month, ten days ago, the Queen of Ferelden was murdered by templars. They set fire to the capital just as the Darkspawn Horde did! The templars within these halls have denied you this information, since the only way they can defend the crime that is their existence is with lies and violence!” The libertarians applauded loudly and in unity. The loyalists seemed lost, one of them booed. The templars on the doors turned their heads towards the stage and prepared to draw their swords. She nodded towards Anders, and with a barely noticeable movement of his arms, the sigils sprang into action, making the templars collapse on the floor.</p><p>As Sapphia ripped of the headpiece of her disguise and tore apart the sister’s garments to reveal an apostate’s robe she wore underneath, the aequitarians and loyalists gasped while the libertarians cheered. One of them moved past the benches, up the stage and kneeled down, offering Sapphia his simple wooden staff, which she clenched with her fist and raised above her head.</p><p>“I am Sapphia Offmills. I stripped away the shackles of this prison once and I have returned to offer you the same. In the name of the Heroine of Ferelden, I declare this assembly an open revolution against the Templar Order!”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Hadley blinked. The templar seemed to be very much out of his element. So much so, in fact, that he just stared at the grinning Zevran for ten full seconds. “I must have misheard you, Captain. You can’t just have possibly told me that you want to use the Right of Conscription on every mage of this circle.”</p><p>Zevran shook his head and pulled out another document. “See, this is why I wanted Greagoir present. You must indeed have misheard me for I am not here to use the Right of Conscription on every mage here.“</p><p>Hadley breathed out loudly.</p><p>Zevran handed the templar the document. “I have the explicit order to use the Right of Conscription on every templar knight present here.”</p><p>“You… you can’t be serious!”</p><p>“In killing the queen, your Order has committed high treason against the crown of Ferelden. Following the legal standards of formality, I am here to hand you the terms the Warden-Commander deems acceptable for your surrender.”</p><p>“This… clearly, this is a joke! And a bad one at that!”</p><p>“Please, take your time to read the proposal. Well, proposal isn’t the right word, since it is legally binding for you. You are to be inducted as Grey Wardens and send post-haste to reinforce the Legion of the Dead at the Deep Roads. Given their losses at the Battle of Denerim, your sacrifice is quite necessary, so I hear.”</p><p>“Those can’t possibly be the Warden-Commanders orders!”</p><p>“Well, if my memory serves me correctly, her exact words were ‘their lives were harmful to the souls of Thedas, may their deaths be a sliver of blessing instead’. But yes, as such is the idea.”</p><p>The templar looked confused, then caught himself again and sought eye contact with Zevran that Meravas found highly funny at first. Like the templar didn’t blink on purpose.</p><p>“You know, <em>Captain</em>, Cullen actually had a point”. There was disdain in the way he pronounced Zevran’s title.</p><p>Zevran tilted his head to the side, still smiling. “Oh? Please do elaborate!”</p><p>Hadley grinned maliciously. “You know what, I’m just gonna tell you. The Knight-Commander is upstairs, dealing with your small pitiful rebellion. He knows why you’re here, knife-ear, and we’ll stop you. I’m just here as a distraction, but you know, fuck that. I can fight you, no problem.” He laughed.</p><p>“You know why Cullen was right? The entire kingdom has lost its respect for the Templars. We protect the people from the fucking abominations that magic creates. That’s our Holy Duty, the Maker himself wills it! We live honorably by the sword for the crown, for Ferelden. And we have been the shield of all for ages! We protect the common folk from fucking abominations. And now? Ungrateful bastards talk of disbanding the circles! Crown should have gone to Loghain, if you ask me. That woman had it coming, thinking she can wear the crown with honor. The Chantry has grown soft. Magic is a sin in the eyes of the creator, but no Divine has the guts to acknowledge that any longer. All of this talk of a “Heroine of Ferelden” my ass. I knew that asshole, tried to help a fucking blood mage escape once. Should have been executed. Had no remorse, there was no soul behind those fucking eyes. We are giving these monsters-to-be a fucking nice time for the fact that they’ll rip us apart at the slightest chance. This isn’t a fucking prison, this is a luxury tavern! No dungeon would be adequate for these freaks! The Wardens were a great name, once. Protected us from the shit the ‘vint mages pulled. But now? Headed by a fucking knife-eared mage abomination, sending a fucking ox-“</p><p>Maybe his ramblings would have ground to a halt after a few more minutes. Maybe there would have been an awkward silence afterwards. Given that a ball of fire hit his face at full force, throwing him and his chair violently crashing into the wall behind him, all of that would remain speculation.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>The secret mechanism opened the wall as planned. Hekka stepped outside, still amazed at the templars inability to see that keeping the old smuggling routes operational was a major risk to their security. Oh well. Their ignorance was to Hekka’s advantage.</p><p>Halberd from the tunnel, squeezing through the hole on the wall, grumbling.  “You could have warned us we’d have to crawl through tight spaces! We could have been claustrophobic or something!”</p><p>“What about “dwarven smuggling tunnels” did sound like vast, open fields to ya?”</p><p>Ice arrived in an equally uncomfortable manner, yet he held his composure. “We did sign up for a difficult mission, didn’t we?”</p><p>An eerie, ghostly voice manifested into the room. “A triangle, cut from itself, yet the sides meet in infinity… A mirror, a reflection, a reflection on a dagger, ready to strike…”</p><p>“Good day to ya as well, nice to see ya again,” said Hekka to the sentient statue in the corner.</p><p>Halberd and Ice looked around like kids in at a candy merchant’s stand. The room with a luxuriously high ceiling was filled with drawers, desks, shelves of all sorts, on which rested dozens of magical items of extraordinary properties. Normally, lyrium exchanges between the Carta dwarves and the templars would have happened here or in the adjacent chambers. Apparently, the magical artifacts in the room where so powerful that the presence of lyrium was vaguely undetectable, or at least the artifacts were distracting enough for most to miss the lyrium stored there. Judging by Ice’s and Halberd’s energetic and revering attitude towards every single object in the room, that didn’t seem far-fetched to Hekka. Ice seemed particularly interested in some mirror shards on one of the tables whereas Halberd seemed to have fallen in love with a bookshelf.</p><p>“Guys, we have a mission to do, ya can shop for souvenirs later! Phylactery is supposed to be through that door over here.”</p><p>Halberd was putting a book back down as Hekka opened the door towards the phylactery room. Again, room did the height of the chamber a disservice. They noticed even more stalactites than in the other rooms, and weirdly formed arches that should normally rest on columns but were almost free-floating on one end. One half of the room was a gallery elevated by several steps of stairs. On that platform stood several shelves with dozens upon dozens of vials. The phylacteries.</p><p>Halberd took two stairs at the time, Hekka followed him while Ice stayed at the lower end of the stairs, eyeing the doors. Seeing how meticulously the templars had organized the blood they had removed from the young mages made Hekka sick. If not exactly upkept tidily, this architectural style emphasized the lies of the templars. Halberd squinted and looked around.</p><p>“What are ya waiting for? Can’t ya just burn them?”</p><p>“Give me one second. Something is off.”</p><p>He took one vial from the shelve closest to him and opened it. Moved his outstretched hand over it. Once. Twice. Several times in rapid succession.</p><p>“What the actual fuck…”</p><p>A muffled voice echoed from beneath them. “I am afraid that these are decoys, not susceptible to you magic.”</p><p>Hekka spun around. At the other side of the room stood a templar knight as several sentinels entered from the side doors. The templar, in full armor, had a sword in both hands, ready to strike it from behind his head. In front of him, turned towards the inside of the room, was Ice, on his knees, hands behind his head.</p><p>“Now, disarm and step away from the phylacteries! Well, they aren’t real phylacteries, but you figured out that much, didn’t you?”</p><p>Halberd immediately threw his staff to the ground and stepped towards the staircase. Hekka growled and took off their bow and quiver.</p><p>“We did indeed expect mages on this little rogue adventure of yours, but not dwarven interference. You are arrested for complicity in apostacy, the use of blood magic and treason against the Templar order. Step closer, I want to see your hands behind your head!”</p><p>Hekka walked towards the staircase, looking at one of the columns next to it. Those were old stones, not well upkept, they thought to themselves, once again. “Shit,” they exclaimed loudly, “fuck!” They kicked against the column.</p><p>“Now, now, you’ll have to explain to me how you got here unnoticed! That is quite a feat, dwarf.”</p><p>“Ya obviously are a bloody young recruit!” They kicked against the column, again.</p><p>“How do you suppose knowing my age without me lifting my helmet?”</p><p>They turned towards Halberd with a stern look on their face. Halberd nodded.</p><p>“True. Could be a veteran. Ya templars only learn to look down upon others!” With their final kick, the vibrations sent through the column and arch finally broke the stalactites, raining down on the templar and the sentinels. One of them hit the templar with full force on the head, leading him to drop the sword in his hand.</p><p>With that, the dwarf and the mages acted in unison. Ice rolled aside and grabbed his staff. Hekka ran back up the stairs and grabbed their bow. Halberd leapt from the railing and bathed the templar in a directed beam of flames. Before the sentinels could react, the knight that had commanded them was dead.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Sapphia lived for that applause. There were many kinds of applause – the applause of courtesy in a theatre, the applause of calculation in a political meeting, the applause of necessity when a person with superior power expected it. This was not one of those. Even describing it as agreement would do the situation a disservice. The applause stemming from the libertarian fraction was the sound of truth recognized, of unspeakable thoughts proclaimed, of a subconscious thought turning into the conscious. The whistles and exclamations that tried to be louder than the applause itself were each individually enough to drown out the collective boo from the loyalist faction. Only the aequitarians in the middle remained indecisive – some tapping on Irving’s shoulder, looking for instructions and advice. He remained still as long as the applause lasted. Sapphia didn’t have the freedom of making a grimace but Thedas be damned, something was going on.</p><p>Once the applause had ebbed down, Irving rose slow and with confidence. He turned towards the mages from where he stood but looked not to the left but to the line between the aequitarians and loyalists.</p><p>“The Heroine of Ferelden was a peaceful and calm member of this circle. Many of you remember but a shy elf, reading books in a silent corner, always heeding the word of the templars on duty. She would never even consider supporting such an insolent foolery. She asked the Queen to free this circle and the crown will deliver on that promise once the current regrettable actions of a few rogue former templars are dealt with. If you wish to honor the Heroine’s legacy, you will stand against this nonsense.”</p><p>Sapphia rolled her eyes. “Look at this man! Every week, the templars walk young mages into the harrowing chambers and carry out their corpses while this man watches contently! He had collaborated for decades with the ones who want to see us dead, who deny our humanity! His goal is painting his office with more and more gold while the walls of the apprentice’s quarters turn red from the stains of blood! I’ll have you know the Heroine of Ferelden is quite alive. There is no legacy to honor while she still breathes, but there is a vision to follow and a struggle to support!”</p><p>She pulled out a scroll and swiftly rolled it open. Looking again at the crowd, she stretched out her arm and showed the scroll, including the purple and gold seal with the stamp of the Grey Wardens.</p><p>“I have the honor of speaking on her behalf, and she has enough of waiting for a monarch’s approval, fighting for every hollow symbolic act that only delays any actual implementation of our freedom! Considering her time in this prison, she has many regrets, but she asked me to kindly inform you, Irving, that among her greatest shortcomings was never spitting in your self-righteous face!”</p><p> </p><p>Before anyone could react, the sound of the central door crashing down cut through everyone’s thoughts. Stepping over the templar that was pushed to the floor by the sigil was a man in a knight-commander’s suit. Behind him entered five mages with the empty stare of a tranquil, carrying swords in their hands. After those had taken formation behind the knight-commander, several templars entered. They were dragging children behind them by the collar. Some of them struggled to get free, others were in a catatonic, frozen state.</p><p>“I was aware of the vast unnatural properties of magic, but even I am surprised to see a return from the dead. Welcome back, Miss Offmills.”</p><p>Sapphia let out a curse. Knight-Commander Greagoir crossed his arms behind his back. A line of sight cleared as the aequitarian mages rushed to either of the sides.</p><p>“Given how much knights are currently out there, looking for you, it is almost an insult you return this willingly,” shouted Greagoir, “especially given that you have no plan whatsoever. Using dwarven sigils to bind those who have consumed lyrium in the last few days? Trying to mob up a rebellion? Trying to use your new acquaintances to keep me occupied in the main floor while your entourage destroys the phylacteries? You are so predictable. My only regret is that the elven mage is on your side, but I told Irving way back that the knife-ear should rather be executed”</p><p>The templars had taken their positions and were holding the children by the shoulders. Next to each of them, one of the tranquils took place and pointed their dagger at the children. Two of the children began to cry, the others were taken by shock.</p><p>For the first time today, Irving looked distressed. “Greagoir, I appreciate the help, but I have this situation under control, but there is no need to go through with your plan.”</p><p>“Irving, are you getting soft? This raucous pack was audible from here to the White Spire. You never even had a shred of control over them.” Greagoir turned again to Sapphia. “Miss Offmills, you will put down that staff and place your hands behind your head.”</p><p>Sapphia acted very slowly, trying not to let her gaze meet the point where Anders had stood before. Every single fraternity was frozen in place. Some older mages among the libertarians had begun sobbing. Every head in the room had turned towards Greagoir. As she saw no other option that could save the children from the templar’s clutches, Sapphia complied. She’d rather die than return to shackles around her wrist, but she could not make that call for children who shouldn’t even be familiar with the concept of death at their age.</p><p>“Now, I have watched the growing insolence among you with great disappointment. We provide everything for you and your safety, and this is the kindness you repay us with? Such a shame. As a reminder towards all of you, but also to the most notorious of the staff-rattling among you, I have made an example of your closest friends and turned half of you tranquil. Now, as tranquility alone doesn’t seem to faze you that much, I will not grant you the honor of becoming martyrs. No. I will show you what the danger you put all of Thedas in really means. These tranquils will kill your children. They all became guilty of apostacy after you were detained, we just had no time to transport them to Jader yet. May the guilt be a better teacher to you than the swords.”</p><p>“Monster!” cried out Sapphia. “Those are children, barely in any shape to understand what is going on!”</p><p>“Monster? Miss Offmills, you worry me. What you call children are the actual monsters here! You all are! Behind those chiseled words of yours lies an abyss, a burning fuse, and an abomination to emerge at any moment. We protect humanity from the corruption that apostacy fuels so harshly! Any of you is a violent monster waiting to happen.”</p><p>“You are right, mages can turn from normal souls into violent monsters. But there is no way for a templar to stop being a monster and develop a soul.” Sapphia was contemplating what to say next.</p><p>“You will never again harm the innocent!” echoed a low voice right besides Sapphia, as if a choir of people was speaking at once. As she spun around, she saw that Anders had stepped onto the podium, yet, from his helmet emerged a light blue glow. He had picked up the staff Sapphia had put down.</p><p>Had she looked in Greagoir’s direction instead, she would have seen that the templars had dropped the children who were now running towards their parents. The next second, she would have seen fire streaming out of every opening of the templar’s suits and the metal turning towards a low red glowing hue. But she only turned around again at the loud clank of their smoking remains hitting the floor.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Zevran raised an eyebrow. “Well, that concludes the negotiation phase of the plan.”</p><p>Meravas shrugged. “Any objections to that?”</p><p>“No, not at all. It seemed he already ran out of intel to spill several minutes ago. They usually do. Why do they always send the ones that have no understanding of the plan first? Such a shame.” He stood up from the chair and smoothed out his uniform. “Shall we?”</p><p>Meravas reacted with a stern and determined look. As she stood up and reached for her staff and took it in her left hand, his dagger had already slit the throats of the two templars who had stood at the wall behind them.</p><p>She conjured an energy barrier around herself and assessed the situation. There were eighteen templars in the room, six of the ten around the central column would be probably able to reach her first. Another two had been positioned at the large entrance gate, but those were immediately overpowered by Zevran’s soldiers who were standing in line at the elaborate partition walls that narrowed the room between the gate and the column. There would be very chaotic fighting in this space within the next few seconds, but nothing the Wardens could not handle. The templars closest to her were the ones at the door in the wall that she had send Hadley into. They were drawing their swords anyway. So be it.</p><p>As they stormed towards her, she shifted the focus of her will away from protection and the barrier fell. One of the templars, possibly less experienced than the other, was only keeping his attention on his steps, whereas the other one behind him was interfering with the magic in the room. While turning the tip of her staff towards the former knight and grabbing the lower part of her staff with her right hand, she let her will concentrate in the tip of her staff and filled that intention with heat and pressure. From the overlapping yet separated golden wings at the end of her staff, forming the shape of a tear with the pointed ends pointed outward, emerged a cone of fire engulfing the first templar by surprise. He fell backwards onto the floor, his suit giving of the wail of stressed metal when it hit the floor.</p><p>The one behind him had dispelled enough magic to be unaffected by the flames that managed to reach him. He closed the final distance between himself and Meravas, his sword in his right hand raised to strike from above, his shield firmly in front of him. Besides widening her stance and slightly raising her staff, she let him make the first move. As his sword began to move down towards her, she turned her staff around its axis by a third of a rotation and caught the sword's blade in the tip of her staff.</p><p>Yanking her left arm backwards, she managed to tear the sword from the templars hand, throwing it to the side. The templar tried to raise his shield, but his confusion bought Meravas time. Throwing her full weight in, she spun her body around on her right foot. Not only did she evade the trajectory the templar had taken before, but she also hit the back of his knee with the blunt end of her staff, throwing him completely off balance. As he tumbled to the ground, his attention and dispulsion of magic broken, she concentrated on the concept cold and turned the tip of her staff towards his back. He froze over almost instantly.</p><p>As she returned to the larger picture around her, she saw that the templars towards the gate and at the column had been killed or were on their knees with their hands at the back of their heads, a dagger pointed to them by a nearby Warden. At the other corner of the room, Zevran had dealt with the templars there. He returned towards her.</p><p>“So much for the plan.”</p><p>“We gave them the option to surrender as a whole, and they rejected it before we voiced our terms. We fulfilled our part of the plan, maybe a bit more… messy than intended.”</p><p>“Indeed so. How do you think we should proceed?”</p><p>Knowing better, she asked “is that a test of my strategic skill, Zevran?”</p><p>He smiled. “No, and you know full well that I value your opinion.”</p><p>“He spoke of having seen through our plans. I know Sapphia will still conjure forces inconceivable against the templars, but I am afraid about Hekka.”</p><p>She signed a command to one of the wardens to bring one of the templars who had surrendered to her.</p><p>“Tell us the fastest way to get to the phylactery in the lower levels,” she demanded.</p><p>“I… shit…” the templar grumbled.</p><p>“And make it quick!” She hissed through her teeth pressed together.</p><p>“It isn’t in the lower levels anymore.”</p><p>“What?” She pressed the tip of her staff against the knight’s neck.</p><p>“Look, we were ordered to move them a few days ago! That’s all I know.”</p><p>“Fuck. Can you still lead us to the place they were before?”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Hekka had taken a place behind the railing of the gallery close to the staircase, preparing an arrow behind cover. Standing up for a moment, they aimed at the sentinel that had broken through the barrier of the doorframe and shot an arrow into it. Nothing. They sighed and fell back behind cover. Ice kept the door at the right of the room completely frozen shut, leaving the main door as the chokepoint through which the sentinels emerged.</p><p>They nocked in another arrow and stood up again. One of the sentinels’ armor was red hot from the fireball Halberd had thrown into it. They drew their arm back further than usual and released the arrow. Bullseye. It punched through the armor completely and the sentinel stopped moving for a second. With a wave of force, Halberd pressed it and two others into the stone of the nearby wall.</p><p>Hekka had four more arrows. Ice’s face was a grim declaration of stress and Halberd seemed to barely hold up longer than his boyfriend. They needed a miracle, and that fast. Looking at the wall, they might be able to break them at the central points, but there was a high chance that it would make the entire room collapse. And even if it worked, they’d still lose their way out.</p><p>Clods. Another arrow wasted, without any effect whatsoever. Down to three. They were running out of options. Reaching for their satchel, they took out a mortar and pestle, a small piece of lyrium and a glass flask.</p><p>“Cover me for a sec,” they screamed over the railing.</p><p>“What the fuck do you think we are doing,” Ice screamed back.</p><p>Breaking the lyrium down as fast as they could, they filled the flask with the smaller shards and the powder and sealed it with the cork. It would suffice. Hopefully.</p><p>“Ya both step back from the wall to my left and drop the ice there,” they commanded.</p><p>As the barrier vanished, they threw the makeshift grenade into the opening. Nothing.</p><p>“Halberd, care to help?”</p><p>“On it! Fire in the hole!”</p><p>Their fireball, mixed with the lyrium powder, created a sizeable explosion that took down them doorframe. Some of the stones above it fell down and took down one sentinel on the other side, but nothing else happened. That one moment they actually wanted the ceiling to come down…</p><p>“Any other glorious ideas, Hekka?”</p><p>Sodding shit. No. They had no idea how many sentinels there still were. As a group, they had destroyed roughly half a dozen, but there was no telling how many were left. They were completely trapped. Hekka nocked in the last three of their arrows. Better to go down in a blaze of glory. As they left their cover, no new sentinels stood in the room. Strange. Ice had closed down all the entrances with solid ice walls, yet no scratching of the sentinels' blades disturbed them. He did not seem to maintain his magic, either, but they were still standing. A moment of silence followed, and then two.</p><p> </p><p>The silence ended when a sentinel crashed through the ice barrier of the main door. Its armor was charred and in its side stuck a dagger. On the other side of the door, they heard metal clashing against metal and occasional shouted order. Halberd and Ice looked towards each other and then towards Hekka. They shrugged.</p><p>Over the next minute, the fighting seemed to die down drastically. Only one other sentinel entered the room, walking backwards. An elf danced around it, occasionally using the openings in the animated armor’s defense to stick a dagger through the seams of the armor. It fell down, motionless, shortly after.</p><p>The elf, having the three pairs of eyes in the room on him, bowed theatrically.</p><p>“Good day, my friends. I am Zevran Arainai.”</p><p>Hekka scrutinized him. “Ya the crow of this operation?”</p><p>“A crow no longer, but my claws remain as sharp. You must be the Carta dwarf, then?”</p><p>“Yeah but same shit with the 'no longer'. Weren’t ya supposed to be on diplomacy duty?”</p><p>A familiar voice made itself present in the room. “Any diplomacy with our oppressors is but a farce, my love. I decide to end it.”</p><p>Hekka took several stairs at once and jumped into their girlfriend’s arms. They shared a long kiss with Meravas before looking into her eyes.</p><p>“Merv, I missed ya down here.”</p><p>“So did I up there.”</p><p>“What are ya doing here, coming to rescue me precisely when I needed it?”</p><p>“Well, we closed our negotiations unsuccessfully and I thought, given the failure of the plan in general, to look for you.”</p><p>“Isn’t Saph’s uprising the more vital part of the plan?”</p><p>“First of all, your well-being is just as important as the entire plan, and secondly, I can imagine Sapphia is coping with these particular changes of plan rather well.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>“For our freedom!” shouted Sapphia as the stone fist she had cast bashed the templar’s faceplate inwards. She had dreamed about open resistance for the decade she had been stuck in here and it was as glorious as she had envisioned. When retelling this day, she would make no secret out of the fact that she thoroughly enjoyed it. Next to her, several of the young libertarians had taken on a templar with hardly more weapons than their will and fists. The templar continually struggled backwards, barely able to avoid the attacks, and lost his helmet while stumbling. Sapphia knew that face. That man had beaten up three of her friends for refusing to obey him on separate occasions years back. Two of them had died as a result of his violence, one of them had been rescued by the Society of Glitter last year. The templars had had their chance to give up peacefully. Now it was a question of never making them happen again.</p><p>Anders’ marvelous outburst had turned the tide of the situation. Sapphia was unsure how he had pulled that off, but it was exactly what they had needed. Upon the failure of his immediate plan, Greagoir had withdrawn from the Great Hall and barricaded the doors. Swiftly, the libertarian voices had completely drowned out the opposition, and roughly thirty mages had taken up their staffs and broken through the doors. Some mages had remained in the Great Hall, tending to those who had been wounded by the templars and comforting the children. Anders was in the care of some who remained there, given that he had collapsed after killing several templars instantly and at once. Sapphia had to learn the mystery behind that powerful spell at some point, but not now.</p><p>As she and several yelling mages rushed through the door that the templars no longer managed to remain shut, she saw that the central hall of the floor had been barricaded by the templars. They had thrown over several bookshelves and tables and thusly separated the central hall into two halves. Suddenly, Sapphia was forcefully pulled backwards, through the door she had exited just before. As she wanted to protest, the buzz of a flying arrow became a very loud presence in her ear. She ducked behind a table as several others followed suit.</p><p>The woman who had saved her life was none other than the enchanter that had represented the libertarians in the assembly. Sapphia didn’t have a chance to look at her completely as she had been but one piece in the puzzle of the audience, thus she only noticed now how beautiful the enchanter was. Her eyes were the shade of a dark blueish grey with lighter spots close to the pupil, and they were framed by immaculate wave of eyeliner whose lower and upper part met in elaborately detailed wings against the backdrop of vibrant red eyeshadow. Her nose must have been broken and not been treated properly at some point. She seemed to have spent most her life behind the walls of the circle, marked by how pale her white skin was. Her cheekbones were just as sharp and defined as her jawline. The shade of the eyeshadow matched the red of her smiling lips as well as the blush on her face. By the way the enchanter had rescued Sapphia, the two women’s faces had come quite close. She was clearly waiting for Sapphia’s reaction.</p><p>“Thank you, it would appear I owe you my life.” As she noticed no discomfort in the enchanter’s smile, Sapphia didn’t move back. There are no handbooks to follow when it comes to starting a revolt, so why not enjoy the small sapphic moments during a prison riot?</p><p>“And if everything goes well, the entire circle will you owe you our freedom, so I guess we are even.” The enchanters spoke fast yet intelligibly. “Despite all the stories whispered in the dark, I wasn’t made aware the mystery woman who managed to pull of an aerial escape from the circle was this beautiful or had a tongue that by itself could unlock the locks on our chains.”</p><p>“The stories don’t do my tongue enough justice, that is true.”</p><p>The enchanter smiled before returning to a more serious tone. “We can circumvent the barricade by taking the enchanter’s rooms next to the kitchen and the adjacent corridor, but…”</p><p>Noticing the sound of cries from the other side of the room, the mage paused and rushed through the open space not covered by the walls to its source. Sapphia followed her, avoiding the arrows to close for her liking. Behind two benches, turned to the side and stacked on top of each other, was a male mage Sapphia estimated to be a few years younger than her, at maximum. The enchanter was trying to comfort him.</p><p>“Can I help you, Finn? Do you need something? If you go back to the hall, you will be protected…”</p><p>“Théroigne, do you see the contents of the shelves they are burning out there? There were irreplaceable works on there; the originals of the Chronicles of Widakind, the Hibernan Encyclopedia, the only remaining copy of the Cloudny Account…”</p><p>A mage behind him shook his head. “This is not the time to worry about books, dude, people are dying, get your fucking priorities straight!”</p><p>Firmly, the enchanter contradicted that statement. “Listen, Oto, you are correct, we need to press on and stop their attacks, but every one of us has something that brought us through our times here, and for Finn, it was keeping care of the archive.” She started addressing the handful of mages in the room. “In order to succeed today, to stop the senseless loss of life, pride and history, we need to work together. Those of you capable of and willing to fight, I need you to go back through the Great Hall and the archival room towards the enchanter’s quarters. We’ll meet you there. There is a wall we can breach there to take over the templar’s position. You should have no problem to get there, given that they would have no strategic priority for the archive. Are you ready?”</p><p>One uncertain yes was followed by several others, more and more certain. The young mages rushed back towards the Great Hall as Sapphia turned towards the enchanter.</p><p>“Théroigne, was it? Who was meant be your ‘we’ that was supposed to take the other route?”</p><p>“Sapphia, do you want to kick some templar ass with me?”</p><p>Sapphia grinned. “It’s a date!”</p><p> </p><p>As Théroigne had predicted, they met little resistance on their way to their destination. The one templar that tried to raise her swords against them was no match for their synchronized use of force magic. The training rooms had been utterly abandoned, as had been the enchanter’s quarters.</p><p>The young mages arrived there shortly after Théroigne and Sapphia. “Did you meet any resistance?”</p><p>Finn shook his head. “No, ma’am!”</p><p>“Finn, listen, I am barely four years older than you! Every time you ma’am me, I feel like I am drawing my last breaths,” remarked the enchanter. “Anyhow, show of hands, who here is versed in force magic?”</p><p>Five hands were raised, three remained down.</p><p>“All right, among the rest, do you know basic elemental magic? Can you conjure some snow or thin ice?”</p><p>Three heads nodded.</p><p>“Okay, once we push this wall in, I need you to give us a thick blanket of snow and ice on the barricades, is that clear?”</p><p>Eight heads nodded.</p><p>“Excellent. Force mages, get behind me and Sapphia, we’ll go first through the breach. Elemental mages, to the back!”</p><p>The templars thought themselves safe behind the barricades. They could fire upon any mages that dared to approach them, and they secured the staircase to the fourth floor, giving them a route to retreat. Their back was protected by the walls. Or so they thought. Most of them were hit hard by pieces of shattered stone, many were blinded by the dust that followed. The few that remained completely ready to fight found that from the wall emerged a salvo of elemental and force spells and a large group of mages storming forth from the great hall. Outflanked, outnumbered and stunned, they fell quickly.</p><p>As the dust and fighting had settled, Sapphia looked around at the dead templars and living mages. It was a marvel. Freedom was so close to their grasps. No more running, no more living in the shadows, no more nights spent with one eye open fearing that Seekers breached their doors with swords in hand. But there was a piece missing, a final lock to be shattered.</p><p>From the top of her lungs, she screamed into the hall. “Hey! Everyone! Has anyone seen Greagoire’s corpse?”</p><p>Only a couple of ‘no’s and close variations came back. Sapphia turned towards Théroigne. The enchanter nodded. Assembling a small group of the mages that had fought before, they took the steps towards the fourth floor.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>When they breached the door to the Knight-Commander’s office, Greagoire was the only person standing. At his feet lay the corpses of the aequitarian and loyalist enchanters, including Irving, as well as those of the tranquils in a pool of blood. Quickly, he dropped his dagger and stretched out his hand in which he held a lyrium grenade.</p><p>Théroigne tried to storm towards him, but Sapphia instinctively held her back. The enchanter cried out. “What have you done? What have you done?”</p><p>Greagoire looked at her with soulless disdain and resignation. “It isn’t a full Annulment, but I have followed the spirit of my duty as much as my abilities carry me. May the maker have mercy on the rest of Ferelden as I couldn’t kill you all.”</p><p>“Monster!”</p><p>“I have heard that several times today, and you never gave an explanation. I guess that all this senseless bloodshed is in your blood. All of you are born half an abomination to begin with, and the demons call upon you through your blood. Sometimes, you are able to see reason, acknowledge your nature. You make good weapons in a war and sometimes, you manage to mime a human so much I could be fooled into believing there could be something like friendship. But in the end, even Irving was too short-sighted to accept the necessity of his death.”</p><p>“You have killed them all! Hundreds of innocents! They could have had a life in happiness knowing that the abilities they were born with could save others! The ones you made tranquil were proficient healers!”</p><p>“The templar’s methods are harsh, and my consciousness weighs heavy for every non-magical human we have to harm. We are not free of mistakes, but we do our duty to protect Ferelden with the sword and the backing of the creator. Every leashed mage is dozens of common men saved from an abomination, and sometimes, death is an effective leash for the worst. May the maker elevate me to his side for I have done everything to protect his creation.”</p><p>“You have murdered hundreds of children and adults alike! You have spent your life a killer…”</p><p>As he wordlessly detonated the grenade, Théroigne cast a force cage so tight his silhouette glowed blindingly bright. When the enchanter fell down, crying in Sapphia’s arms, the spell dissipated and left behind only a smoldering pile of ash.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>“Focus and breathe. The worst is over. We have won. You will be able to live.” Sapphia marched down a line of mages capable of mages capable of elemental mages. The afternoon had passed as they had located the new storage of the phylacteries. Ironically, destroying this phylactery collection would have been much easier than the underground one. It was in a simple storehouse, seven minutes from the tower. Had they arrived only three days later, one of the captured templars had revealed, the phylacteries would have already bound towards the White Spire via ship.</p><p>“Know that this fire will be the guiding light for all of Thedas. Know that this fire burns away the chains that kept us from our dignity. Know that this fire means that from now on, every action you take is yours. That your life will be yours to design. That you can return to your families, if you want and can, that you can go and help people. Study. Open a restaurant. Become a dracologist. When this fire burns bright, it will send sparks to all of Thedas, igniting the way towards a world that knows not to be afraid of you. People will acknowledge that you have a soul, that you are beings worthy of respect and recognition, that you are people like them. Our freedom is the peace of not living in fear, and with this fire, we make that freedom a reality!”</p><p>The mages cheered.</p><p>“Fire!”</p><p>The row of fire spells bathed the entire storehouse in flame, top to bottom, creating a fire that wouldn’t have to spread.</p><p>“Halt!”</p><p>As this house would burn down, so would the records and tracing capabilities of the templars. The catharsis in the mages broke through and they began to cheer, some began to sing, some to dance, some hugged each other. It was a similar scene that had played out at the tower as they had formally announced the freedom of the circle.</p><p> </p><p>Théroigne was sitting on the hill next to the building. Sapphia took place next to her. The sun and the warmth of the fire made the grassy earth quite cozy.</p><p>“You could have also told them about the fact that the Heroine plans to decriminalize magic once she is in power, that could have doubled as a recruitment call.”</p><p>Sapphia smiled. “This is more immediate. The promise of future decrees is very impersonal and theoretical. Seeing an object that is so daily and useful to their oppressors destroyed in flames, something immediately and directly next to them, something that shows them the power monopoly has been broken in this very instance, is a symbol of hope that has its place.”</p><p>Théroigne nodded in acknowledgement. “True.”</p><p>“Have you known the ones who were murdered?” There was no good way to get to this topic, but it had to be breached.</p><p>“They were capable comrades. I know their names and I know their dreams as much as those of any of any of the libertarians. But no, I wasn’t close with them if that is your question.”</p><p>“I can understand how it is losing those you try to speak for, those you try to protect. There have been many dark days and horrible messages in the Society.”</p><p>“Do you think this world can change? Do you think there’ll come a day where we no longer have to go through the list of the fallen, the missing, the tranquil, the ones who have given up hope?”</p><p>“We owe it to every soul to try to change it. Should the rebellion fail, the next generation of mages may try again. And if they fail, the next. Someday, that much is certain, there will live mages having the peace and freedom denied to us.”</p><p>“Do you think we can hold out that long? Stand up time and time again, only to be beaten down at every opportunity? Won’t we burn out at some point?”</p><p>“You seem to be absolutely convinced we have no chance now. With the allyship of the Wardens and the Dalish, we absolutely stand a fair chance. And if we have to persist, it isn’t impossible. The Dalish have persisted for centuries against the strongest possible resistance. Given that the hatred we face in this world is the result of the hegemony of the human Chantry, it stands to reason to let the Dalish have the first and final word in this revolution.”</p><p>“Are there elves in your underground society?”</p><p>“Few and sometimes. Most of those we helped out of the circles chose to return to their communities in the alienages, some also went to look for various clans. There have been more direct relations between one of the clans close to Kirkwall and the local mage underground network there, but you’d have to ask Meravas for the details.”</p><p>The enchanter nodded. “Say, how well do you know the Heroine?”</p><p>Sapphia grinned, the memory being as strong as it was fresh. “Some might say as well as one can, though others may call that superficial.”</p><p>“Do you think she has the power to re-recruit a former member of the Wardens into the order from a circle in Orlais?”</p><p>“I honestly do not know how Warden affairs work. Shall I ask her once I see her again?”</p><p>“Maybe, but I might… Yeah, you should. It would be nice, anyhow?”</p><p>They watched the fire silently for a moment. The enchanter sighed. “What is the next step, anyhow?”</p><p>“We will mobilize those willing towards Jainen and carry our flame of freedom to our kin there. The rest is a detailed plan by the Commander, Meravas and Hekka have more familiarity with the intricacies of that.”</p><p>“Apropos Jainen, I remember you being called Offmills in the assembly. Isn’t that one of the port towns that are in Jainen’s zone of influence?”</p><p>“Yes. Mostly known for the enduring tug-of-war between the Teyrnir of Highever and the Waking Sea Bannorn of who has to right to collect taxes there, because there isn’t anything else of importance there.”</p><p>Théroigne nodded as if the information wasn’t new to her. “What connection do you have with it?”</p><p>“I was born there, that’s all. Offmills is what I use in lieu of a last name, giving the continued yet unfounded privilege of the nobility to exclusively have a last name. My insistence has led many of the templars to mock me for it.” She shook her head at the many memories flooding in. No. The templars had been thoroughly beaten, the mages had emerged with their first open victory in centuries. The templars she remembered were no longer an ongoing threat, not…</p><p>“Interesting. I’d be Théroigne Highever in that case.” The enchanter looked at Sapphia with warmth and understanding. “Want to cuddle?”</p><p>With a thankful look in her eyes, Sapphia laid back and rested her head in Théroigne’s lap. The enchanter began gingerly playing with Sapphia’s hair.</p><p>“Théroigne Highever… For an enchanter, you look half the age one might expect a person of that position to have.”</p><p>“Is that a compliment or an observation?”</p><p>“An adults’ age is neither compliment nor insult by itself.”</p><p>“Then your skills of observation are laudable. I have been born the ninth year of the Dragon Age.”</p><p>Sapphia closed her eyes together. Why did everybody expect her to be able to do math in her head? “You are twenty-two? Doesn’t one have to have spent several years as a full mage in the circle to become officiated as an enchanter?”</p><p>“Yes indeed. I underwent my Harrowing at the age of fifteen at the Circle in Montsimmard. Some templars were mocking me saying I would be incapable to survive the ritual, so I petitioned to take it directly on the spot.”</p><p>“That is amazing and most certainly a show of force bound to create some memories. Did they send you here to make your rebellious spirit somebody else’s problem?”</p><p>Théroigne laughed heartily. “Something to that extent, sure. I was transferred here six months ago. The incredibly chantryist Montsimmard enchanters saw me somewhat as an annoyance.”</p><p>“How strange. What I am currently seeing is a lot of things, but annoyance isn’t among it.”</p><p>They continued staring into each other’s eyes for a while to the backdrop of shattering glass and crackle of the fire.</p><p> </p><p>A sudden, familiar, and very loud voice made Sapphia sit back up and promptly turn around. “Ha! I was right! I was right! Ya lost, Merv!”</p><p>The qunari looked at the ground, sadness in her face. “This is incredibly shameful for me, how could…”</p><p>“I thought we were clear that it is absolutely fine to be with other people when we want it?” Sapphia questioned.</p><p>Meravas sighed and searched something in her pocket. Her hand emerged with a silver coin between her fingers, which she let fall in Hekka’s outstretched hand. “No, no. You did nothing wrong. I just… When Hekka wagered you’d turn the uprising mages into a dating pool, I underestimated you.”</p><p>The dwarf grinned. “Ya know, this is actually faster than even I expected.”</p><p>Théroigne had gotten up and looked at the newcomers. “Your partners, I assume?”</p><p>“Yes. Théroigne, meet the incredibly talented Meravas, head of the Society’s network of agents and meticulous logistician. And this is the ever level-headed Hekka, architect, pathfinder, enthusiastic explosion-causer. Hekka, Meravas, meet Théroigne Highever, a comrade-at-arms I met today who laid siege to the templar’s authority and found my heart among the spoils of war.”</p><p>Théroigne chuckled. “Flatterer.”</p><p>One of Zevran’s soldiers appeared on the hill, hurried towards the four and saluted Meravas. “Operative!”</p><p>“Soldier,” responded Meravas, “I take it your mission was successful?”</p><p>“Look for yourself, Sera!” He pointed towards the top of the tower, from which a giant banner had been unfurled. From their perspective, it was only partially visible. Three vertical stripes, violet, silver-white, and a reddish orange, in that order, were above a stylized geometrical blue crown below. In the middle, contrasting the light colors, was the Warden’s heraldic griffon in black. The new flag of the Heroine of Ferelden had made its first appearance in the world, above a liberated prison.</p><p>“Very well. Anything else?”</p><p>“The captain wanted me to relay the final count of the battle statistics, Sera.”</p><p>“You need not be so formal, just report them.”</p><p>“Very well, Sera. The First Reconnaissance Division has two wounded and no losses. Forty-five templars have been killed in battle, seven have surrendered, among those, one killed himself while unsupervised. The mages count twenty-one wounded, seventeen fully treated by now, and sixteen dead, eleven of those killed by the Knight-Commander.”</p><p>Meravas frowned. Was it truly a victory if sixteen of their kin didn’t live to see it? “Very well, you did good work. Dismissed.”</p><p>The soldier saluted again and hurried away.</p><p>Meravas looked at the flag in the wind again. In a few days, it would wave above Jainen’s circle, their victory now probable with an advantage in numbers, information and the element of surprise. She wondered silently where else in the future and world it might be found.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Took me a while to get the structure of this one fleshed out. Yes, I will remain entirely void of subtlety when it comes to the magic-queerness-analogy, that should be obvious ever since I called the flirty lesbian mage “Sapphia”. This fanfiction will only get queerer, take it or leave. I know there are tonal shifts between hate+despair+violence and queer playfulness. That is my experience in queer communities, both trying to carry the consequences of the world’s hate and trying to find happiness at the same time.</p><p>I have not a single clue how magic is described in the books. Given that it is, in the games, attributed to willpower and a sort of sense for the magical, I just created a system based on intent, concentration and a fade-sense.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. An unusual approach</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Matthian comments on the command structure of the Warden army under Dalish command. Matthian and Neimena discuss strategy.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content notes: This chapter discusses military actions and a violent military occupation of a city.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 30th day of Solace, early morning</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The soldiers were grumbling to themselves in the light of the campfire as Matthian walked past them. After a couple of steps away from them, he decided to turn around and ask them why. As he walked back, their murmuring ceased completely. They stood up in a haste and saluted the moment he made eye contact. He addressed the young Ferelden man closest to him.</p><p>“Is everything all right, soldier?”</p><p>“Of course, lieutenant!”</p><p>“It is just, you three seemed somewhat upset about something just a minute ago, so I have a hard time believing that answer.”</p><p>The young man looked at his comrades for reassurance, scared. They looked away.</p><p>“Well, Ser, it is just… Why the hell are we marching at night, with barely any torches? It’s not like we’re on hostile grounds with the folks here. Maker, I thought we were invited! Taking boats on the river was fine enough, and I am, like not against marching…”</p><p>Matthian took a second to reply. “The General has good reasons for the orders she gives.” Well, she always did. However, he couldn’t see the why of their current strategy himself, either. “You should take your rests, we’ll begin our march for Denerim after nightfall.”</p><p>As he walked away, to the center of the encampment, he heard them sit back down again. Their question would have been a breach of rank in any other army. The General had, however instituted a rule that any questions about strategy the soldiers had that they could articulate could be turned towards their superiors. However, any question – and especially statement – that disrespected the Dalish culture of the new lieutenants would lead to imprisonment. It was an interesting equilibrium. He had seen the youngest recruits and oldest veterans take first steps in strategic thinking in just a short time. He was fine with his rank being perceived as less important, if even so slightly. He was here for the Warden’s cause, not to bark orders.</p><p>The middle of the encampment was a minute away from the castle gates of Caer Oswin. They had formed a vague half-circle of carts, larger and smaller tents, fireplaces and weapon racks around it. On some open spaces, they were assembling parts of trebuchets and ballistae. The paths were lit by torches and the occasional brazier and cast multiple moving shadows of him onto the ground as he walked by. It would be about an hour to sunrise, yet, it was brighter than normal at this time, given that his eyes had slightly adjusted to the marches in the dark of night. Apart from the spots where wood met metal to assemble the siege equipment and the occasional blacksmiths workstation with grindstones and anvils, it wasn’t as loud as one would expect. It was a calm before the storm reminiscent of his experience before the battle of Amaranthine. This time, that much was different, the recruits knew what to expect from a battle. Only a dozen or so hadn’t been at either Vigil’s Keep or Amaranthine. This calm was less the stress of before than anticipation of something no longer unknown.</p><p>His wandering gaze came to a stop at the castle. He knew there was a lot of talk between the Warden-Commander and some nobles. He knew it was important, about the future of the Wardens and her bid for the crown and all. As much as he tried, he didn’t understand all of it. They were talking about events on a scale he didn’t conceive as that predictable. “Next month” is a concept so much fickler than they believe. Or maybe the rules just didn’t apply to bloody nobles.</p><p> </p><p>The command tent was smaller than some of the mess hall tents he had seen, only standing out from the nearby tents housing equipment by the Warden-Commander’s flags next to it and its light blue color. As he entered, a scout was talking to the General.</p><p>“… and we thus expect to arrive at Jainen half a day earlier than expected. May freedom find us all and may you be victorious in your upcoming battle against the oppressors. In respect and solidarity, the General of the Army of the Mage Rebellion, Sapphia Offmills, as well as the commanders Meravas, Hekka and Théroigne…”</p><p>The elf looked at Matthian and directly motioned the scout to stop. “Could you come back in five minutes?”</p><p>The scout saluted. “Of course. General. Lieutenant.”</p><p>Before the scout had exited the tent, Neimena motioned Matthian to come closer to the table.</p><p>As he approached, he was once again at the number of maps, texts, little tokens and figurines as well as measurement instrument strewn over the table. The General had arranged her hair with small wooden pins ornamented with minute carved leaves on them. Fitting the tattoo on her face, he thought. She wore a light Dalish armor comprising of blue and violet metal armor pieces, adorned with detailed symbols and pictures, above silver chainmail. She had it ordered from the Warden blacksmiths as her official armor as General. The Warden General armors he had seen thus far were solid plate armors, but he could see how this one prioritized a more dynamic fighting style over defense. It was as practical as it was aesthetically pleasing, a seldom hybrid among armors.</p><p>“General! I take it the talks in the castle have gone to your liking?”</p><p>“Sulevin ghilana hanin, and I have no reason to complain. But tell me, Matthian, there seem to be  a thought or two weighing you down.”</p><p>She was excellent at reading his expression. Actually, her light brown eyes pierced literally anyone’s mind within seconds and she drew adequate conclusions almost immediately. He was happy to know he followed the orders from such a capable strategist.</p><p>“Yes. Actually, two questions. First of all, as some of the soldiers have also noticed, we march at night and in relative dark, save for the moon, which seems unnecessarily stressful and difficult for the fact we walk under official order in friendly territory. But also, we take a route that isn’t a direct one at all. Even if we account that the Hafter River route southwest has taken us only three days with the ships from Amaranthine, and getting to the castle has taken us only one night’s march, it will take us at least three nights to get to the west road and then four more to Denerim. If we marched directly from the Keep, we could have made it in five days or nights, yet now, it takes us at least thirteen. A raven can make the distance from the Keep to Caer Oswin in less than a day, so talks could have been done that way by taking the direct route. I understand you have a plan, yet I can’t find what it is.”</p><p>“You have made some astute observations, but I am sure you also carry a suspicion regarding your first question.”</p><p>Her tests were frequent, and he always tried his best to succeed, yet there was a reason she was General, not him. “Well, uh, I could think it is an exercise in humility since the soldiers see that the Dalish lieutenants are better at navigating the dark?”</p><p>“That certainly is a side effect that leads to the soldiers having to rely on us, and it is slowly building trust, but it isn’t quite the goal. We march at night, under the moon that will be getting brighter for the next few days, as an act of training.”</p><p>Matthian frowned. Few new information, another test. “It seems like a skill acquired with great difficulty that isn’t really necessary. For the Battle against Orlais, I remember you saying you don’t want to use the core of the army fighting in the night. The only other foreseeable battle is that of Fort Drakon. So… we will have to fight the templars in a surprise attack at night?”</p><p>“Close. Both of your points of confusion have the same origin of strategic justification. Please look carefully at this map of Denerim and its surroundings.”</p><p>He stepped towards the table and looked at it. Nothing particular struck him as noteworthy.</p><p>Neimena continued. “Say we approach from the north using the Pilgrim’s Path, what terrain are we traversing?”</p><p>“Well, very shallow hills and mostly flat grassland.”</p><p>“What terrain is to the west and south of Denerim?”</p><p>“Forests and hills.”</p><p>“Now I give you the information that Fort Drakon contains the highest point in Denerim. From the top, you are able to see a day’s travel distance away from the city.”</p><p>He understood, at least a bit. “Our arrival will be a surprise to the templars because we will approach the city at night, in the cover of a forest. But you can’t stage a surprise attack siege, can you?”</p><p>Neimena laughed. “Depends on your definition. A surprise attack wouldn’t give the attacked an opportunity to think their actions through. Given that we are fighting templars, one could consider any attack we stage a surprise attack. But to some degree, it is indeed going to be a surprise siege. See, there are quite powerful ballistae at every level of the Fort, at least two dozen. And they have several hundred bolts of ammunition permanently stored in the Fort. Those bolts have hollow steel tips and the templars have unknown quantities of lyrium.”</p><p>Matthian finally got the entire picture. “We can get close to the city without being blasted into oblivion.”</p><p>“Precisely. We are going to cross the Drakon River in a few days, approach Denerim following the river on the south, and finally make camp on this clearing directly at the wall, at the closest point less than a twelfth of a mile from the entry point of the Fort. Once they realize we are there, our own ballistae and trebuchets are going to be as ready as visible and we will force an advantageous stalemate. We are going to nullify their greatest strategical advantage without a single casualty and before the actual battle begins.”</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Yearning for disorder</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In order to save the alienage, Asla, Neimena, Velanna and Imerati infiltrate Fort Drakon to destroy the templar's ballistae before the main attack commences.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter discusses military actions, violence against a marginalized group, queermisia and transmisia as well as violence comitted by a group framed as enforcers of the law in graphic detail.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 8th day of August, late night</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“… so the C…Commander orders you not… not to advance… any further onto… onto the city or else he… will turn the alienage into… into dust…”</p><p>Imerati had shaken her head on the inside when the messenger first arrived, but she felt the urge again as she heard him fumble for words. She knew the templar’s barbarism very intimately, but child recruits were a new low for the templars. This boy could not have seen more than fourteen years in this world.</p><p>“Assure Cullen the Wardens will stay where they are as long as he doesn’t open fire.” He turned around to hasten out when she added: “Oh, and boy?”</p><p>“Uh… Yes?”</p><p>“Tell me, are there many children your age among the templars?”</p><p>“No… no… I have been the only… youngest one to follow… the… I am talking to much… Goodbye…”</p><p>He ran outside. Imerati turned to one of the two Wardens standing guard at the tent entrance. “See that you help him leave the camp if he loses his way, will you?”</p><p>The soldier saluted and went outside. As Neimena had perfectly planned, they had built their camp on a clearing next to Denerim’s walls in less than four hours, including a palisade to the southeast. It stood like a shield between the camp to the north and Fort Drakon to the south. But more than a defensive function, it stood there to point to the space behind it. In that space, their trebuchets and ballistae stood as a declaration of a temporary tactical draw. Good fortune had caused clouds to appear and shroud the moon in the hours it took to install the siege weapons, making their progress an even greater feat of logistics and engineering. Later retellings of this masterstroke of strategy would spare out the hundreds upon hundreds of curses for the want of torches among the human soldiers. Four hours later, the moon appeared again and the templars awoke very suddenly to their nightmare.</p><p>She tried to suppress a yawn with all her strength. It was up to her to be an example, and she had to live with the burden of the center of attention. It was a burden, because the power dwelling within the position she had been cast in so easily created pain. To navigate that was tedious. Sighing, she looked around. The cloth the tent was made out contained small silverite threads, making it reflective to the light of the torches. It was a welcome departure from the darkness on the night marches towards Demerim, which had been a strain on her eyes. Sometimes she wondered if it was the legacy of the years in the circle that had left her eyes strain when she tried to focus on the distance or in the dark. The one Warden soldier at the tent entrance seemed as tired as her, she remarked silently. Her little cell of the tent was a bit dull, admittedly; one rug from the entrance to her chair, a wooden partition behind it, a brazier to her left and two torches to her right. However, her commander’s chair, as simple and unimposing as she had ordered it, was still quite comfortable. Deciding that the soldier could see she was not alone in her exhaustion, Imerati yawned and took all of her strength to leave the chair. After tonight’s battle, she duly deserved some sleep. Though her bed would feel empty no matter how much sleep she would be able to catch.</p><p> </p><p>She went to the back, behind several wooden partition of the Commander’s tent, and looked at the scene. Neimena looked on her desk with scrolls, maps and various utensils. Braziers and candles lit the command center, a bit too bright for Imerati, who had thoroughly enjoyed the light of the moon and stars on the way here. Couriers entered the tent frequently to talk to Neimena. She send several of them back out with various short commands and requests. Behind her, the Dark Wolf stood, reading a longer scroll, immersed in the text and appearing a bit detached from the goings-on. Imerati simply stood there, feeling a tad awkward for the apparent intrusion. Some seconds passed before Neimena addressed her.</p><p>“Ma falon, good early morning to you! I am rallying the army for the next steps of this endeavor.” She picked up a scroll and turned towards one of the couriers. “Urgent delivery, tell the lieutenant of the Dwarven Underminer Divisions. Tell him this is simply a copy of the orders I have explained to him before, this text is just as a backup and signal to be ready to plant the charges.”</p><p>“Yes, Sera!” The courier saluted and stepped out of the tent.</p><p>“Falon’fen, could you see to the strategical maps being once again tested for accuracy regarding the mission targets? I don’t mistrust the scribes, but you are the source of these information to begin with.”</p><p>The Dread Wolf nodded. “At once.” He left the tent.</p><p>Neimena turned around to face Imerati and sat down on an empty part of the table.</p><p>“It would seem the templars have taken recruits among the general populace with a blade. Cullen just send a boy to tell me the obvious. I just don’t see why he did that.” Imerati sighed.</p><p>“Clearly, he send you a second message that he believes himself absolved from the morals you follow and that he will sacrifice civilians if you don’t submit to the templars, all in the choice of the messenger.”</p><p>Neimena saw that Imerati was painfully aware and switched the topic. “Do you require a rundown of our numbers and composition?”</p><p>Imerati nodded as she leaned against a wooden support beam. “It can’t hurt to know, can it?”</p><p>“The Wardens bring six companies with a hundred and ten soldiers each into the field. The Amaranthine Forces are two hundred strong, the Dwarven Divisions number sixty engineers in total. The Second and Third Reconnaissance Division count fifteen trained assassins in their numbers each. As the older son of the late Bann John Franderel wanted to participate in this battle to avenge his father, his personal guard of one hundred fifty soldiers accompanies us.”</p><p>“So, we count eleven hundred souls among our ranks, maybe a thousand ready for open battle.”</p><p>“More or less, yes.”</p><p>“We are going to lay siege to the strongest fortress in Denerim with less than double the crew of said fortress and win within a few hours?”</p><p>“Once the fighting starts, it is going to take less than an hour for Fort Drakon to fall.”</p><p>Imerati stared at the Dalish elf with intense admiration, once again. “What providence has made our paths cross at such a crucial time?”</p><p>“Neither providence nor the creators, falon. Just the need of the Dalish to breathe the air of a free Halamshiral again.”</p><p> “With every second of my life, we’ll make it so,” Imerati nodded solemnly. “I understand your strategy for the next hours, save for one detail.”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“How will we prevent the templars from firing upon us or the city?”</p><p>“Oh, that’s easy. We are going to infiltrate the fort with a couple of assassins and sabotage the ballistae.”</p><p>Imerati had seen her accomplish one impossible task now, she had no case to doubt her ability. Yet, the insistence that it was easy made a small chuckle escape her composed face. “Ara seranna-ma, falon. It’s just… this fortress has been successfully infiltrated three times in the last five ages, all of which happened without the shroud of an upcoming battle making it more difficult. How do you propose several people at once to enter the fortress unnoticed?</p><p>“By creating a small tunnel through the fade.”</p><p>Ah yes. What else. “Pardon?”</p><p>“I do not know the fade as intimately as you do, so all I could tell you is second-hand descriptions until…”</p><p>A courier entered the tent and saluted the two elves. “General. Commander. I have a report from the camp gates.”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“A group of Dalish have arrived at the gates. They are led by a very… loud female mage. Who has repeatedly switched between curses and requests to see you, addressing you by name rather than title.”</p><p>Neimena’s light brown eyes lit up for a fraction of a moment. It was a glimmer Imerati knew all too well. She certainly wondered how she didn’t notice until now. Perhaps it had been the overwhelming experience of being accepted by the clan that had made her oblivious that evening a couple of weeks back.</p><p>“Have them let in immediately,” Neimena commanded and pointed the courier away with such force in her words that the man stumbled a step backwards before turning around and hurrying outside.</p><p>“Allright, ma falon, do you need anything more?”</p><p>Imerati smiled and shook her head. “Go ahead.” The Dalish woman ran out of the tent, whistling the tune of what Imerati remembered as the story of the inseparable Dalish lovers.</p><p> </p><p>When Imerati caught up to Neimena again halfway to the camp entrance, the huntress lay in Velanna’s arms, kissing her passionately. Seeing this happiness emerge from love was one of the strongest fuels to Imerati’s inner fire. Yet, seeing the love between these women now absolved from separation also reminded her of what she herself was yearning for.</p><p>When Neimena left her love’s embrace again, she must have noticed Imerati’s mood. “She is closer to Denerim than Val Royeaux at this point, if everything went according to plan,” the huntress said, reassuringly. Imerati had wondered before how Neimena managed to always tell what’s on another person’s mind, how she was always ready to be of assistance. It was a courtesy Neimena seemed to extend mostly towards those she considered her community, that much Imerati understood. She also related to the need take care of one’s friends and loved ones, whatever they carried around with them, quite well.</p><p>“I heard you have given Neimena more of your fancy Warden titles. Was that really necessary?” Velanna critiqued.</p><p>A valid point. “Velanna, it is so good to see you again, too. And no, Neimena doesn’t have more… well, technically… uh… we restructured a lot and I trust her a great deal and technically she now holds half a dozen Warden titles, but most of them are just a formality.”</p><p>Velanna didn’t seem convinced. “And there I was thinking the only title you strived for was that of Emerald Knight…”</p><p>“Whatever is necessary to get us there, vhenan,” said Neimena and kissed her again. Trying to give them some privacy, Imerati turned to the stars and wondered if her love was currently looking at the stars as well.</p><p>“We need to get going,” attested Neimena after a while. “We’ll meet up with the Second Reconnaissance Division, get the gear and walk a bit through the forest before we discuss further details. The camp has too many eyes and ears to be a reliable place for a briefing.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Imerati was somewhat acquainted with the leader of the handful of the elven assassins that were accompanying them. Her name was Asla, a skilled elven rogue, co-founder of the Warden’s program to free Crows that wanted to quit and offer them protection, and also Zevran’s fiancée. They had been murdering the higher command of the Crows to offer others the freedom Zevran had gained, as a date. Quite romantic, as far as Imerati could judge. The resulting “Reconnaissance Divisions” were more a bunch of assassin friend groups than actual military units. Their preferred way of solving problems was stabbing them first and asking questions second. Any of their allyship with the Wardens was ranging from casual help here and there to the zealous admiration for the Wardens. All of them had promised to help on this campaign, some wanted to not plan further than the point at which the templars were beaten, some wanted to permanently enlist, some wanted to decide later. Imerati could work with that quite well.</p><p>It had taken them fifteen minutes to walk into the forest enough for Neimena to feel safe from spies. Given the precarious state of their stealth mission, they did not carry any sources of light with them. Imerati wanted to curse the state of her eyesight for the one hundred and third time in the last few days. The pattern had been very consistent, so much so she considered seeing a healer specialized in ocular anatomy after the circles would be liberated. It didn’t help that the entire group was cloaked in black leather and cloth, almost invisible against the darkness of the forest.</p><p>“Everyone, this is Velanna, Keeper of Clan Revanadas. She will assist us in this upcoming operation, as the magic necessary to breach the fort is difficult to pull off.”</p><p>“Also, I hate the chantry and like to kill their lackeys.” Agreeing murmurs among the assassins.</p><p>“Also, she hates the chantry and regards templars rightfully as enemies. You have been specifically chosen because you all responded in a recent evaluation that you are completely unafraid of magic and have no reservations about magic being performed in your proximity.” None of the assassins showed any reaction, their way of agreement. It is quite rare to find people who are so detached from the hate against mages ever present in Thedas, Imerati thought to herself.</p><p>“This is quite good since we are going to use magic to breach through a part of a wall undetected.”</p><p>At this point, Velanna took over. “Before the Dales were slaughtered, there were scholars concerned with rediscovering the vast knowledge of Arlathan. Some of their discoveries survived. One understanding among the surviving knowledge is the Ghilan-Somniari.”</p><p>“The… path of dreamers?” Imerati translated under her breath.</p><p>Velanna wasn’t all too impressed by that. “Creators, can you just let me finish? Some of you will know of the fade. Some of you won’t. In any case, the fade doesn’t map directly unto our world, and at some points, a path through the fade will not be similar compared to a path through this world. Dalish dreamers first found a pair of places where this world and the fade were quite closely connected, but in different altitudes of energy. By connecting to the fade at the higher of these points, one will be carried by the flow of energy between them through the fade and emerge in our world at the lower of the points, circumventing objects that separate the points in this world.”</p><p>“Isn’t there a magic spell used for short-distance fade-stepping that is quite common?” an assassin asked.</p><p>“Humans destroyed our culture and robbed our knowledge yet gained no understanding. Some of the scholar’s work has been appropriated by Orlesian scholars and transformed into the fade-stepping we know today. Yet that is a forceful creation of an energy spike on the spot a mage is standing, a quite brute use of energy and a demand placed upon the fade that requires a lot of willpower and concentration. The Ghilan-Somniari has the advantage of using the natural occurring differences in the landscape of the fade to open a path that briefly can carry several souls across without costing the mages involved any mana. Usually, a dozen is a lot for one Ghilan-Somniari, but this is a place where the veil has been artificially weakened. According to Neimena, that would be due to the building process. And it doesn’t hurt that a demon that spent more time in the fade than in this world was killed here. In his death, he’ll have created several impacts into the veil where he tried to go back. So, there’s a good chance we’ll find a suitable spot here.”</p><p>Imerati tilted her head. “How many alternative plans for entering the Fort did you prepare for?”</p><p>“Seven,” Neimena answered. “None of which would be as reliably stealthy or would be as free of casualties on our side.”</p><p>Imerati nodded. “And you chose the one that both involves you seeing your girlfriend again and that proves how much was lost in the fall of the Dales. Makes sense.”</p><p>“Don’t forget an opening move against the templars that uses magic they neither understand nor will be ever able to control.” The huntress turned to the assassins again. “Know that any action alerting the templars to our presence could be highly disastrous. Stealth is the path to victory here.” She took out several scrolls out of a pocket of her darkened leather armor and handed them to the assassins. “These are the missions each of you are assigned to as well as the names of your teammates and floor plans and other useful intel.”</p><p>“Three of you, including Imerati, are going to find marks on the suspected location of ballistae. You will be team one. We know the total number of ballistae in the tower, but we don’t know their exact locations. Once inside, your mission is going to be the destruction of the ballistae threatening the city.”</p><p>“Velanna and I are going to be team two. We are going to take on the lower floors, while you are going to be assigned to those further up. This makes the mission slightly easier as we work independently and in parallel.”</p><p>“The team assigned to the central mission, team three, is going to consist of four members. I have talked to one of your team before, Rin.” One of the assassins nodded. “Rin is going to be assigned with the most dangerous part of this mission, the one for which I can least guarantee a safe return to the base.”</p><p>The elf nodded. Imerati noticed she was the only one among them wearing a vallaslin, yet she couldn’t connect it to any creator in the pantheon. “I am fully aware of the risks involved. I owe it to my sisters’ memory to give everything for a world in which those shem will never again take another life.”</p><p>Neimena nodded, and, as Rin seemed to have concluded, continued herself. “We will carry their memory to Halamshiral once this is over. May you see their stories spoken in the Dales yourself.”</p><p>The assassin shook her head. “Vir Adahlen, falon. The freedom of our people should come first, do not worry about me.”</p><p>Neimena let the words rest for a few seconds, the turned to the assassins again. “The mission for team three is to locate the templar’s lyrium storage chambers, should such exist. Should you find them in the marked parts of the western half of the tower and should they be at least partially in a powder form, it will be Rin’s task to set them on fire once our trebuchets start firing on the Fort.” The assassins assigned to the task saluted.</p><p>“The remaining three, team four, is going to have to secure the main gate and be ready to unlock it. The other teams are going to return to the main gate once their tasks are finished. The gate is going to be opened once team one, Velanna and I show up at the main gate, ensuring that even if the templars notice, they won’t be able to enact vengeance upon the civilian population. Once we are outside, Velanna and Imerati are going to send a bright spell wisp towards the sky over our encampment, signaling that both teams successfully destroyed their half of the ballistae and ordering the start of the siege five minutes later.”</p><p>She turned towards Imerati. “Should you not be able to reach the gate for some reason yet have finished your mission and be certain that we did as well, head to some elevated open position and send a spell wisp the same way. It is going to be the same for Velanna.” Imerati nodded.</p><p>“All of you will now have a couple minutes to go through the strategy, ask questions, talk to your companions and prepare. We will make our way towards the Fort afterwards.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>When she last felt the presence of this place all around her, the templars at Kinloch Hold were licking their hands in anticipation of the opportunity to exterminate the entirety of her friends and her comrades. She had to remind herself that this wasn’t the Circle overrun by lethal demons and deadlier templars. This was the one opportunity granted to them to guarantee once and for all that the danger looming over their heads would be lessened.</p><p>“Do you feel it?” Velanna demanded.</p><p>Imerati took a deep breath and stretched out her sense of magic towards the ever-present fade again. “Ready.”</p><p>To describe it as the force of a roaring river or a raging storm would do it a disservice. She could sense a purpose to the flow, as if it was conscious and aware of its destination. It had a clear goal and would not be stopped. It seemed entirely undisturbed by their presence. They were less passengers on a boat than a leaf that had fallen on the scales of a flying dragon.</p><p>It was less than a second later their existence manifested back into the world they knew. Imerati recognized the tall hall with its large arches converging in a half circle at the other end. It was the former prison complex, with the rubble torture devices and cell blocks filling the floor. Dust was heavily hanging in the air around the lit torches, which were placed on the wall in between blocks of rubble arranged with pieces of hay and cloth to form some dozen provisional beds. Observing that much was her first reaction to the new surroundings.</p><p> </p><p>Asla’s method of acclimatization had differed insofar that the throat of a templar standing an arm’s length of her point of apparition away was now slit. Similarly, Neimena had engaged in combat with two flabbergasted templar who were so unprepared that they fell within seconds. There were about three dozen templars here. Some of the templars wore casual clothes, some were wearing armor, some seemed to have put on armor when they arrived. They were positioned all over the hall, some particularly close to the thick gate separating the prison from the rest of the fort still closed. Maybe their infiltration had interrupted a change of guard duties.</p><p>A templar close to them came to a conclusion and shouted in the direction of the door. “Inform Commander Cullen that we have been breached by enemy forces!”</p><p>There were too many templars in this room. No matter how many they fought, some would escape the hall and the templars would make good on their threat. Hundreds of elves in the alienage would die. It was over before it began. There was nothing Imerati could do. No spell had the ability…</p><p>Split-second decisions in the face of overwhelming danger are a fascinating ability of the mind. They can make an individual overrule long-held beliefs in the name of survival and do incredible acts of force. Imerati had read a forbidden treatise on blood magic in the archives as a teenager, and it had burned into her memories. She had firmly decided, back then, that the risks involved would always outweigh any possible positives. In that very second, she doubled down on that assessment. She focused her magical sense onto the flow of blood of the templar killed by Asla. The fade called upon her with a thousand unfamiliarly aggressive voices as she directed the energy on the muscles of the templars in the hall.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Her consciousness awoke in an unfamiliar place. Under her, she felt something resembling freezingly cold stone. As she opened her eyes, burgundy mist and flowing warm air made her surroundings appear like under clouded red water. She stood up, realizing that she was standing on a floating piece of rock not very wide. As she turned around, two arm’s lengths from her was standing a creature closely resembling a naked woman, safe for the horns on her head and her purple skin. A desire demon.</p><p>“Look how came here for the first time,” a choir of sweet voices echoed towards Imerati.</p><p>She hastily tried to reach for her staff, but it wasn’t there. None of her gear was. In fact, she seemed to be wearing a silk pajama instead of the black leather armor. “Back the fuck of!” she demanded firmly as she went into a melee fighting stance. Without her magic, due to the medicine she was using for her body, she was as weak as one can be in a fistfight. She hoped that magic without a staff would give her enough of a fighting chance.</p><p>“No need to be aggressive, we are having a friendly conversation. Please, take a seat.” A couple of Orlesian wing chairs appeared, one close to her, facing the other next to the demon. The voices had a hypnotic melody.</p><p>Imerati assessed the situation. Talking could buy her time. For what exactly, she couldn’t tell. “What do you want?”</p><p>The demon had sat down on the chair, crossing her legs, leaning forward and resting arms on the armrests. Some might consider her body language as regal. “You have proven your power quite well before coming here, Heroine of Ferelden.” The emphasis on the title was poignant. “As from one seeker of power to another, I want to make you an offer in good faith.”</p><p>“I am nothing like you and I do not seek power!” Imerati refused to take a seat.</p><p>“Oh, don’t you? Are you not leading an army to crush your enemies? Are you not seeking a crown to make that victory last? Don’t be shy about it, Imerati. There is nothing to be ashamed of when one is grasping more power.”</p><p>“I seek no power, only to be free of harm! And one seeking power for power’s sake is always doing so in utter violence, never in any good capacity. Every single individual doing that needs to be more than ashamed.”</p><p>“Yet what you seek is power nonetheless, no matter your intention. There will be a lot more blood spilt tonight to secure your vision, don’t you know that?”</p><p>“The self-defense of the oppressed is incomparable to the violence of the oppressors. I refuse to partake in this argument.”</p><p>The demon paused and smiled. “Perhaps we are starting of on the wrong foot here. See, I am but a humble messenger of the archdemons. They like you, Imerati. You are not like the others. You can see things differently. And they appreciate that. They want to offer you that which you so desperately seek: Peace and security for you and your love and the magic necessary to get the body you want to have.”</p><p>“And the catch?”</p><p>“You would have to but retire as the voice and the leader of the Wardens. Convince people that the Blight is over and past and they need not worry about all the Warden fearmongering. Settle down in a nice spot of your choosing with your girlfriend. Tend a small garden. Have a cat. Let the world be. The archdemons promise to leave you be once the next blight starts.”</p><p>Imerati chuckled sarcastically for a second. “You make this offer to every person seeking change and to every one of my kin. I can see why it is tempting to many and why some chose to take it. Yet how am I supposed to believe that you’d leave me be as you slaughter the world? You’ll come for my kin and me afterwards. I am not that easily fooled by the words of the Blight.”</p><p>“We guarantee that we will stay true to our word. You will be granted what your heart desires: security!”</p><p>Imerati shook her head. “There is no compromise between what we want. You cannot give me what my heart yearns for because you will never truly understand it. You will always be opposed to the world I want to see.” Her consciousness faded back to black.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>As she woke up and opened and closed her eyes multiple times, two familiar faces above her came into focus. One was filled with concern, the other with rage.</p><p>“Dirthara-ma! For fucks sake! Didn’t they teach you basic rules about blood magic? Are the humans really that incompetent?”</p><p>Imerati laughed weakly. “I’ll prefer your cursing over those sickeningly sweet demonic voices anytime, Velanna.”</p><p>“We were really concerned, Imerati. You had no heartbeat for a couple of minutes.” Neimena expressed relief in her eyes.</p><p>“Falon’Din may never stop us, you know that quite well.”</p><p>“Velanna said you were on the brink of being possessed by a very powerful demon and that you would need all the willpower possible to resist it.”</p><p>“Was my determination ever in question?”</p><p>“Why do you think we stayed here, waiting for you to come back?” Neimena exhaled and paused for a second. “Can feel your body? Is everything alright? Can you stand up?”</p><p>Imerati nodded and slowly, with both elves’ help, stood up. “Did my spell do its work…?”</p><p>Asla nodded. “Many of the templars were dead, and the rest had lost their balance for a few seconds.”</p><p>“Where are they now?”</p><p>Asla shrugged defensively. “I panicked, wanted to do something to help, and, uh… Let’s say they no longer pose a problem.”</p><p>Imerati nodded. That was a lucky conclusion to a highly disastrous situation. “Any casualties among our small group?”</p><p>Neimena shook her head. “None.” She turned towards the assassins. “Team four, it is going to be advantageous for you to disguise yourselves as templars. Since we landed in the ground floor, you won’t have far to the gates and you will have to do some waiting in plain sight until the first successful groups arrive. The rest of you: Stick to the shadows and move swiftly. Vir Assan, sulevin ghilana hanin!”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>For the most part, their mission went smoothly for quite a while. Between burned down candles, flickering braziers nearly out of coal and the darkness cast by massive columns, there were a lot of shadows to traverse. Getting to the mission area almost felt too easy. They didn’t even have to kill any of the templars they sneaked by, as they all seemed immensely exhausted and stricken with uncertainty. From the few of their words she managed to listen to, it became obvious that they trusted the stalemate. There were a couple of very hushed whispers regarding “the commanders” increasing erraticness and cryptic orders. Imerati was fully aware that Cullen’s lack of strategic thinking and intense hubris were a liability. They had backup plans in case he gave the sudden order to fire, but they wouldn’t be able to stop the bloodshed.</p><p>They had eighteen ballistae to take care of. The first twelve went flawlessly. Reach the balcony, kill the guards if necessary, enter the balcony, disarm the ballista by cutting both the arming mechanism and bowstring, repeat. Imerati admired the professionalism of the assassins she was working with, feeling a bit clumsy stumbling around in the dark while they gracefully and swiftly moved from one spot to the next. Yet, she knew that they had been trained for that task by a group punishing them for any transgression from their current path. Like Zevran, they had decided to put the abilities forced upon them to good use. Her emotion towards them was not envy but gratitude. To her, they had introduced themselves as Fel and Tan, and she could only differentiate them by height, given that Fel was the taller of the pair.</p><p>Ballista thirteen seemed to go as well as the others at first. The stairs had advantageously brought them into a corner of the floor without direct sources of light. There was a row of columns around the outer edge of the largely open floor, and by sticking behind them, they could easily reach the corner with the door leading to the terrace on which they would probably find the ballista. Having spotted that there were two templars guarding the ballista, both leaning against the inner side of the floor, one staring at a piece of paper in his hand, the other one on the other side of the corner, Fel and Tan prioritized the one not distracted. Reaching the other side of the column against which the templar was leaning, Tan swung around from the left, directly shoving his dagger in the slit between the templars helmet and the shoulder piece, and Fel emerged from the right side to catch the templar before he fell down. Within a second, the templar was silently dying behind the column.</p><p>Given how coordinated their movements were and how successfully they operated together, Imerati just stuck behind a column, surveying the scene. They dispatched of the second templar just as quickly and in the same fashion. Imerati felt curiosity towards what he had been reading so carefully that he did not notice the death of his comrade. Prying the paper free his clutch, she stretched away the wrinkles. From the first glance, it was evident that this was a leaflet. She wondered if there was a printing press in Fort Drakon that the templars could have used. The font was standard in Ferelden printing, splotches of ink and discontinuous saturation of the letters told a story of a potentially novice or stressed user of the press. Given the situation the templars were in, it might be both. She began reading.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>TO THE CITIZENS OF DENERIM AND ALL MEN OF THEDAS,</em>”</p><p>A generic masculine form. What a great start.</p><p>“<em>the Order of Templars has been known for centuries as the guardians of tradition and security</em>”</p><p>She wondered how that was supposed to be a good thing. In their minds, she knew, it was supposed to be a good thing. In her experience, the tradition of the templars was violence and abuse.</p><p>“<em>and we pride ourselves in being the Maker’s chosen champions of the just.</em>”</p><p>The great mystery of the Chantry was how they, in the same breath, could say that their god had left the world and hadn’t sent a prophet since Andraste, yet every strike of the templar’s sword was directly sanctioned by the same god.</p><p>“<em>We have shielded you from the scourge of magic and maleficarum since the time of Andraste and will dutifully carry that protection into the future.</em>”</p><p>How did they always manage to say “since Andraste’s times” and not be ousted as liars immediately? It was common knowledge that the chantry was formed in its modern form long after Andraste’s death. The pre-chantry Andrastian faith and formation of the Chantry was such common point of historical knowledge, it was often the one historical event every soul knew, regardless of their state of education.</p><p>“<em>However, a demon in the form of a knife-ear has corrupted the soul of the queen past a point of saving.</em>”</p><p>A triple of common tropes, how daring. The evil advisor trope, the demonic influence trope and hatred against elves. So haplessly slapped together she wondered if the propaganda had influenced anyone outside the Fort. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be. Being called a demon didn’t even faze her a bit, it had happened so often in her childhood that she did expect it at all times.</p><p>“<em>As is our duty to the world, we have taken up arms against any and all, noble and common, who would see Denerim flooded with the demonic inferno again.</em>”</p><p>As much as she wanted to criticize the juxtaposition of a word associated with water and one associated with fire, the true rhetoric faux pass in this section had to be the blight reference. Alistair, Leliana and Zevran and her had defeated the archdemon together. Elves had carried the final battle, and not only that, that the Wardens even managed to get there was an elf’s accomplishment, namely hers. People were aware, that was the entire point of the title “Heroine of Ferelden”. The public memory was very fickle, but it wasn’t so fast at forgetting her that making her a blight-bringer would work as a device in a piece of propaganda.</p><p>“<em>We call upon you to join and bolster our ranks as we will defend Denerim once again, as the once and future King Alistair, one of our own, has done with his sacrifice.</em>”</p><p>How easily they manipulated the memory of Alistair. How easily they molded him into this white Templar-King who would have supported their hatred. Alistair had been a kind man. He had learned. He had come to criticize the order to some degree. And creator’s sake, he did not want to be king at any point.</p><p>Under the text was a very bad caricature of the queen, a demon at her ear, and a crowd of people behind a templar with his sword drawn. It was so full of racism, misogyny, and hatred that Imerati elected to tear the page into pieces.</p><p>“Objective complete,” reported Fel. Imerati nodded and motioned them to move onward. She knew what the next objective would be. Five ballistae stood between them and completing their mission. She had fired each one of them before.</p><p> </p><p>Right until now, they had been as lucky as they had been skilled, avoiding every templar patrol, every posted guard, meeting only ones that were exhausted and disillusioned. As they now made their way back to the staircase, their luck ran out. On the stairs leading down, two templars in full knight-captain’s armors emerged, one carrying a torch. With lightning reflexes, his companion drew his sword and within one motion slashed it into the direction of Tan’s torso. The assassin’s dagger was too short to fully parry the blow and only managed to deflect it downwards. The sword’s blade struck his hips at the same time he pushed his dagger into the templar’s neck. During the same time, Imerati had cast spikes of ice that had impaled the other templar, leading the torch to fall down a few of the stairs. As Imerati relaxed again, she noticed the gaping wound on the assassin’s side as he growled and collapsed onto the stairs.</p><p>She had learned some basic level healing spells from Wynne back during the Blight last year. Drawing onto the harmony present in the fade, she focused her will on stopping the bleeding and reducing the level of pain. Fel had torn of a piece of his mask to improvise a pressure bandage. Imerati noticed that a part of the bone was exposed and had been partially shattered. She could make the bleeding stop and help prevent a sepsis with the magic at her disposal, but not more.</p><p>“I can’t heal broken bones. That’s above my knowledge.”</p><p>“And now?” Tan hissed through his teeth pressed together.</p><p>Imerati deliberated for a moment. “Could you two reach the main entrance undetected in this state?”</p><p>The assassins nodded. “Retracing our path thus far should not be a problem,” Fel confirmed.</p><p>Tan remained skeptical. “Our mission is, however, unfinished.”</p><p>“I will see it carried out,” promised Imerati.</p><p>“You sure that’s possible?”</p><p>“It has to be.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Getting to the rooftop was no problem, given that the layout of the Fort was familiar to her. What directly became apparent to her as the most pressing obstacle was the she was woefully outnumbered. Arriving at the top of the southwest staircase, carefully pressing herself behind a column, only occasionally throwing a glance at the scene, she saw two dozens of templars in small groups on different points and elevations of the rooftop. Could she reach the ballistae undetected, elemental magic in glyph form might be a prudent way to have the option to disable all of them at once. The problem would be getting there undetected. Whereas the rest of the building had been relatively dark, the rooftop seemed to be where the templars spared no expenses in torches.</p><p>She would have to carry her staff to have a focus channel for the glyphs, there is no way she could do that otherwise. So, a disguise was out of the question. With minimal experiences in fade stepping, she couldn’t reach the ballistae in brute and quick force, let alone that it would be too much of an expense of mana at a time where her concentration was already low. She could try a Ghilan-Somniari and hope for the best, but Neimena relied on the stealth aspect of this mission. As long as no templars survived to report to the others, it could arguably still be counted a stealth mission. But she wouldn’t be able to use blood magic again. The next demon might not be simply beaten by force of will, and Velanna wasn’t there to help her back this time. In conclusion, she’d have to rely on conventional magic and speed. An open battle against dozens of templars. Imerati was no war mage, not by a long shot. Yet hundreds of lives were directly at stake and the world itself was counting on the success of the revolution. She would have to try.</p><p>Retracing her steps to a lower level, she took the northeastern staircase to the rooftop and secured it with a glyph mine. Should anyone try to open the door, it would trigger and freeze the locking mechanism shut. She repeated that process for a couple other doors until she was back at the southwestern staircase. Maintaining multiple glyph mines never was a problem for her, costing barely any mana. Once again, she assessed the situation. The element of surprise was still at her side, and by the way the templars were standing, she might be able to reach the two ballistae on the eastern bastion undetected. Drawing a deep breath, she began sneaking to her objective.</p><p>There was no way to unload the ballistae fast enough. She placed a weak glyph of ice spikes on either end of the bowstring and a stronger one on the loading mechanism. With a bit of luck, that would do the trick. The second ballista went just as swiftly, one, two, three turns of the staff, and it was effectively done. A glance towards the center of the rooftop told her that the approximation of two dozen present templars had been correct. It would be now or never.</p><p>The first three templars fell so suddenly they died in utter confusion. Number four and five barely unsheathed their swords before joining their comrades. Another two raised their shields before being hit by a mind blast and frozen to death. The next three were now prepared and charged towards Imerati, engaging in closer combat. Her focus was tight and her movements were precise until a sadly familiar voice cut through her concentration like a knife. She had problems recognizing both voices and faces, yet this one had burned deep into her memory.</p><p> </p><p>“HALT! Or the boy dies!”</p><p>A couple of meters from her stood Cullen, the tip of his sword on the neck of the crying boy who had been his messenger to the Wardens before.</p><p>“Drop your fucking staff, mage!”</p><p>Imerati did as ordered. </p><p>“On your knees and hands on your head!”</p><p>Cullen pushed the boy forward until they were close to Imerati. He pushed his hostage aside and turned his blade into strike distance of Imerati’s face.</p><p>“Take off that mask! Slowly!”</p><p>Imerati sighed silently and did as demanded. The boy was crawling away, still in tears.</p><p>“YOU!” exclaimed Cullen as he could place Imerati’s face.</p><p>“Yes, me. Who else did you expect?”</p><p>“Out of all the demonic appearances that plague these lands!” he cried out. “Soldiers! Begin the bombardment!” The templars saluted.</p><p>Fuck. Imerati knew that she had little choice now. Her priority now was minimizing casualties and the bestway that could go now would be in disturbing the templars by killing their leader. But not in this position, not now. She would have to buy the others time and then aim for a blaze of glory to go out in. She let go of the part of her concentration keeping the glyphs on the ballistae dormant. She heard two faint twangs and exhaled. Three to go.</p><p>Cullen screamed loudly. “GET THE OTHER BALLISTAE IN POSITION AND START FIRING NOW!” He turned his head towards Imerati, fury in his eyes. “Did you really think you could get away with this?”</p><p>Imerati chose to keep him talking. Men like him like talking a lot. “Get away with what?”</p><p>“I knew you somehow manipulated the queen. I don’t know how keep up that thrall of yours. Again, I might add. I can’t explain your presence in this world other than the Maker testing the strength of noble souls! How often I stood in the Circle, feeling those demonic thoughts creep into my mind. You might appear a woman and a knife-ear, but inside, you are a man and a demon. That the queen was too weak to resist the temptation should have been clear! That’s why a man should have taken the throne, a man of my integrity, one of our order: Alistair.”</p><p>There was a lot to unpack here, and Imerati would have much liked to react were it not for the general strategical situation and the sword at her head. If she had a sovereign for every of his type of man feeling attacked in his masculinity by her presence, she could become a Princess of Antiva. Also, Alistair was her trusted friend, and Leliana once told her that she suspected Alistair to have had a minor crush on her, so she doubted he would have been less inclined to listen to her than Anora. Once again, they made a mirror of themselves out of Alistair, and it hurt seeing her friend’s memory treated that way. And oh creators, she had had an embarrassing crush on Anora for a bit, but for political reasons and the weird hand of fate, Anora had been too preoccupied with finding a suitable husband for a political marriage than dating some elven woman.</p><p>“By the Maker’s will, I was informed what corruption had taken hold of the Queen. She wanted to degrade the Order into a bunch of soldiers for the crown! We are the Maker’s Holy Army, not some mercenaries! We protect Thedas from abominations like you! She interfered with our duty and I have become quite content with her death.”</p><p>Imerati would have honestly preferred any hawkish mercenary over a templar. Also, he had taken her hostage by using a child soldier as a hostage during a hostage situation where he threatened a genocide. How he managed to still portray himself as the good guy was beyond her understanding.</p><p>“And why are people denying the differences the Maker laid between mages and men, between men and women, between knife-ears and us? The fancy of our time jeopardizes all men and is the reason the Maker left us!”</p><p>Ah yes, binary oppositions imposed by some transcendental force as the order of the world. That’s how their worldview functions.</p><p>“And back in the circle, I could feel the world fall apart in the Maker’s test! And then you went away and they kept saying that you were with a woman! The Maker forbids…”</p><p> </p><p>Given that the bloody tip of an arrow emerged from his throat, he wasn’t able continue his monologue. Imerati hadn’t looked forward to learning how he might combine his hatred for her love of women with his hatred for her being a woman anyhow.</p><p>A woman stood behind his collapsing corpse, lowering her bow, clearly content with the outcome. “If the Maker ever created a test, you might be the one opportunity for Andraste to define limits to her mercy.”</p><p>Imerati grinned. “And there I was thinking the clergy was not supposed to kill any soul…”</p><p>“He had a soul?” the woman exclaimed in disbelief. How much Imerati loved to listen to this particular voice. There was no better sound in the world.</p><p>She jumped up, ran towards her girlfriend, and fell into Leliana’s arms, crying tears of joy. The bliss of her embrace washed away the stress of the last hours. The sound of that heartbeat was the music of her life. Her warmth ignited the fire inside Imerati every time. Neither of the two needed to speak, no known language could carry the emotions of this moment frozen in time. After a while, Imerati’s mind had to return to the mission.</p><p>“How… I froze the doors shut!”</p><p>Leliana’s smile was a world of beauty. “My rose, you forgot the center staircase.”</p><p>“Listen my mind was half with you all of the times, I was to make a mistake at some point. But how did you find me?”</p><p>“I met Neimena at the door and got an overview of the situation. Tan and Fel provided further intel. Also, now I finally know Velanna in person, what a delightful woman to have as comrade! Then it was but a matter of following the trace of corpses and destroyed ballistae. A bard recognizes the handywork of assassins, as we share the same playing field. Also, there was a kid I ran into on the fifth floor that cried something about a ravaging ice storm on the rooftop. Do I understand correctly this was planned as a stealth mission? Also, even without the information, I knew you’d somehow end up up here. You have a thing for the dramatic and there is barely a stage more fitting for your monologues to an invisible audience.”</p><p>Imerati laughed deeply. It was indescribably nice to be with her again. “Okay, firstly, hey, secondly, yes, thirdly, stop teasing, actually, scratch that, please never stop. But anyhow: How did you manage to get in? The gate should have been shut until my return.”</p><p>“The front gates are open by a bit of a gap. I suspect that so many templars are getting cold feet at a rate that there is a constant stream of deserters.”</p><p>“We could have taken the front gate just like that?”</p><p>“My rose, your entire inner circle, including you and me, has a predilection for thespianism. Of course, a simple infiltration was on the table.”</p><p>Imerati nodded and looked around. “I take it you dispatched of the rest of the templars?”</p><p>“As fast as I could, once I arrived up here.”</p><p>“Neimena and Velanna did finish their objectives?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Do the templars know we are up here?”</p><p>“Most likely.”</p><p>“Then fuck stealth.”</p><p>She picked up her staff, raised her hands up and outwards, and channeled her inner determination. Blue flames appeared, engulfing the three remaining ballistae, melting away the metal and destroying the wood. Three explosions happened almost simultaneously as the lyrium powder ignited.</p><p>Finished with the spell, she pointed her staff upwards and north and conjured a bright violet spell wisp. It flew over the Warden camp. Seconds later, a blue dot flew over the camp, having emerged from somewhere on the ground. The mission was a success.</p><p>Leliana chuckled. “You wanted to do that the entire time, didn’t you?”</p><p>Imerati looked at her, pupils wide. “So badly!”</p><p>Leliana frowned. “Problem, we now have too little time to get to the ground before the actual siege begins.”</p><p>Imerati pointed towards the northwest entrance. “Problem two, templar reinforcements. Cover me and keep up the pressure!”</p><p>“Can’t the cuddling wait a bit?” Imerati had to hand it to Leliana, she was excellent at so-bad-they're-good flirts.</p><p>Looking around, she saw a large Ferelden flag among some rubble. “Do you trust me, vhenan?”</p><p>“With my life.” One of Leliana’s rapidly shot arrows hit a templar. “What are you planning?” A second templar fell to an arrow of hers. “You aren’t considering on taking advise from Sapphia’s playbook, are you?” The next arrow didn’t manage to completely stop the templar it hit. “Who am I kidding, of course we are going to fly out of here…” The second hit, right through the slit of the helmet that allowed some sight, did the job.</p><p>Quickly, Imerati cut holes in each corner of the flag, and connected them diagonally with the disconnected strings of the ballistae. It would have to do.</p><p>“I’m running out of arrows, my rose!”</p><p>Imerati motioned her to come over. “Then prepare yourself for the jump!”</p><p>To say that it went roughly would be an understatement. To say it went terribly would be an overstatement. There was little wind that night, and the two women, embracing each other firmly, managed to hold on to the improvised parachute. The first rays of the rising sun helped see where they were going. The problem was crashing into the treetops of the forest. It softened their fall a bit, but also caused some minor injuries. On the ground, looking at each other, bruised, covered in sweat and blood, but most certainly alive, they laughed and kissed. As the first Warden projectile hit the Fort and an explosion tore through the silence of the night, they made their way towards the camp.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Asla is a pen&amp;paper OC by a friend of mine. Hope I did her justice and correctly transferred her into the 9:30s. Also, I do not like Cullen, please do not try to convince me that he is a soft misunderstood man, many have tried that before and all have failed. His invasive, queermisic voyeurism into Leliana's sex life in DA:I when the world state includes an alive female Surana or Amell that romanced Leliana is just the tip of the iceberg of canon abuse this man commits against a female Surana/Amell.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Regaylity</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Imerati discusses the aftermath of the Second Battle of Fort Drakon with Matthian. Imerati meets and converses with Josephine and then struggles to find words when she meets Briala.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This character briefly mentions the aftermath of a military encounter, but not in graphic detail.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 9th day of August, at the brink of dawn</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Imerati stroked back her wet hair as she emerged from the wash basin and reached for a towel. Looking into the small polished steel mirror next to her felt strange. It had never been not strange for her entire life. There hadn’t been a place for this elusive “I” everybody kept talking while she had been in the circle. The faces she had shown in the circle had all been tools of survival, the question had never been who she was but what she was expected and told to be. The first time she ever made a connection with that being staring back from the mirror was after she had acquired some makeup from a friendly young apprentice. She knew she had it better than some other women; Meravas had told her stories of women fighting against their beards all their life. Her breasts were growing quite nicely in reaction to the potions and mixtures. Her face wasn’t inherently masculine, either. Also, Leliana seemed to like it a lot. Still, makeup felt like a part of who she was. Putting it on, in the specific way she always did, was an act of deliberation and choice. She had become the person she was now by will and deliberation. What she represented was as carefully chosen and applied as the makeup. With that thought, she grabbed the eyeshadow in her ever-favorite shade of purple and the fine brush for her eyeliner.</p><p>Several minutes later, she wore a light yet surprisingly warm uniform in the traditional style of the Grey Warden Commanders, with a sash depicting the flag of the movement running from her right hip to her left shoulder. As much as she disliked the concept of uniforms, she was a bit weak for the sharp golden edges of the fabric, the high collar and the extravagant gloves. It was unnecessarily flashy, and that was precisely what she enjoyed about it. She had bound her hair into a simple yet practical bun. Even an unknowing observer had a good chance to place her in some military rank simply by guessing.</p><p> </p><p>When she entered Neimena’s provisional command center, Matthian saluted and a couple of the Dalish lieutenants greeted her in the Elven tongue.</p><p>“How are things standing?” she asked Matthian.</p><p>“Last report we got is that the main force is still rounding up the last pockets of templar resistance in the Fort, Comma… I mean, Imerati.” He still seemed to acclimatize to the new forms of flat hierarchical structures in the army.</p><p>“Any reports on the casualties?”</p><p>“As you ordered, extra care was given in fighting the civilian recruits pressed into templar service. All twenty-one of them have been taken captive and then released again. As for the rest of the templars, it is hard to know for sure given the state of the ongoing small battles, but it we know of one hundred and twelve or thirteen confirmed deaths and thirty-two who have surrendered. That number should steadily rise as the fighting dies down and we can send in people to survey the battlefield.”</p><p>“Casualties among our own, Matthian.”</p><p>“Oh. Well, nineteen dead and twenty-seven wounded. Among the dead are mostly the personal guard of the designated Bann of West Hill and Franderel himself. They broke formation early when the army moved towards the tower. Three Wardens among the third division died to a hail of arrows. One Warden of the fifth division was killed in close quarters. The recon teams you accompanied into the tower report no casualties, two wounded.”</p><p>So. Rin had miraculously made it out alive. She was glad. “There were concerns about the structural integrity of the Fort before. Any word from the engineers?”</p><p>“They say that those concerns were unnecessary, as the explosion of the lyrium depot was much smaller than anticipated.”</p><p>“Good. Thank you for your report.”</p><p>Matthian blinked. “That’s my job, Commander. You don’t need to thank me.”</p><p>“Just because someone is assigned to a task doesn’t mean they don’t deserve recognition for doing it.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>“My rose, I would like you to meet two people who have accompanied me in my journey back from Val Royeaux.”</p><p>They were walking towards the edge of the encampment once again. The sun had already been climbing the sky for three hours now. Those hours had been filled with salutes, victory cheers and handshakes. Imerati was incredibly exhausted and had been increasingly unfocused when attending to official duties. The battle was over. She wanted to go to sleep and yawned. “Oh… okay…”</p><p>Leliana walked through the entrance of a larger tent. Pushing the blanket acting as an impromptu door aside, Imerati followed her. She almost tripped over the brazier holding glowing coals and dying flames at the entrance. For fucks sake, who put that there? And why? It wasn’t emitting a lot of useable light, just bathed the inside of the tent in hues of orange.</p><p>“They are honored fellow players you should know about, I simply want to make you acquainted. This isn’t a military or political glyphfield,” Leliana promised.</p><p>“That would be a first for tonight,” Imerati moaned.</p><p>“I am afraid the Game doesn’t rest, my lady.” The woman addressing Imerati had brown skin and pinned up hair. She wore an elaborate outfit of gold embroidered silk and several shades of green. The excessively large puffed sleeves were definitely Orlesian, but something about the high-waisted pants struck Imerati as another influence set apart from the Orlesian style, possibly Antivan. The woman had a calculated smile on her face. A diplomat perhaps?</p><p>“Josephine Cherette Montilyet, at your service, Arlessa.”</p><p>Imerati nodded. “Call me Imerati.” She paused for a moment, trying to recollect where she had heard that name before. “Leliana told me about you before. What brings the Antivan ambassador to Orlais to the heart of Ferelden?”</p><p>“She informed me that there is a crown waiting to find a fitting head. That’s a spectacle I could hardly miss. Besides, the position of Ambassador is regularly rotated between a few families depending on ever-shifting alliances between the Princes and Princesses of Antiva. It was foreseeable I’d only hold the title for a few months.”</p><p>“Still, holding it successfully for any time seems an incredible accomplishment for an eighteen-year-old.”</p><p>“As does saving Ferelden thrice over for a woman with barely twenty-three years to her name.”</p><p>Both the Game and the Circles seemed very eager to end childhoods at the earliest convenience, she thought.</p><p>“Josie has helped me quite a lot in my recent attempts to placate the church for the weeks to come,” Leliana joined in.</p><p>“’Attempts’ and ‘placate’ are words selling our victory quite short, Grand Cleric Leliana.”</p><p>Imerati blinked. “<em>Grand Cleric</em>? You? What happened to Elemena?”</p><p>Josephine sent a judgmental stare towards Leliana. “Really? You have been together with her again for how long? Five hours? Six? You didn’t tell your girlfriend of what you accomplished? How long did you intend to keep it a secret?”</p><p>“Actually, four. And it would have been absolutely funny to make it a surprise for the coronation.” Imerati laughed. The kernel of truth in this joke was that they both had absolutely no intention to stick to the tradition of the coronation process. A ‘Surprise, honey! Next step is for me to anoint you Queen!’ would have been hilarious.</p><p>“Sometimes, Leliana, sometimes you can be quite insufferable,” Josephine grumbled.</p><p>“Love you, too, Josie, love you too.”</p><p>Imerati couldn’t deny a certain curiosity. “How did you two manage to pull that off?”</p><p>“The short of it is that Leliana’s agents managed to secure sensitive correspondence from the Divine to the leader of the rogue Templars. Queen Anora had petitioned to hand the Circles over to mage administration and assimilate the Ferelden templars into the Crown Guard. Divine Beatrix in turn wanted land and rights close to several Chantry buildings in Ferelden for her official sanction of Anora’s plans. To make official Divine approval more valuable and get out more of the deal, she advised this Cullen in vague words to pay the Queen a visit and make his disapproval clear. With what happened, that correspondence reads like she used the Fereldan Templars as her private assassins to get rid of a sovereign monarch. Should these documents become public, her network would be seriously jeopardized, Thedas’ monarchs would become weary of her, and the White Spire would be enraged. So long as she recognizes Fereldan sovereignty and Grand Cleric Leliana’s decision for the Fereldan branch of the Chantry, those documents will remain private.”</p><p>“The actual short of it is that we are blackmailing the Divine into allowing you to make Ferelden a mage haven free of nobility and templars and allowing me free reign of the local Chantry!”</p><p>“Leliana! You could put that a lot more tactfully, you know!”</p><p>Imerati laughed. “Rest assured, Josephine, I don’t mind. In fact, I love her for precisely that. Our love immortalized in a de facto schism of the Chantry is... truly amazing.” She and Leliana exchanged a loving gaze and a small chuckle.</p><p>Josephine sighed. “You two are special cases, aren’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>From the entrance of the tent, a voice joined the conversation: “One would assume the designated first elven Queen since the fall of Halamshiral to have to be a special case, Ambassador Montilyet.” It was a beautiful and warm voice, cautiously controlled to be as loud as necessary to reach them, but miss any ears not supposed to hear it.</p><p>When Imerati turned around to address the visitor, she found herself utterly incapable to say any word whatsoever. The elven woman that had entered the tent wore a simple and narrow blue dress with grey and black accents at the waist and from the hips downwards to the ground. From what Imerati could judge, arguably not a lot in that situation, it might have been some finely spun and densely woven wool fabric.</p><p>The newcomer approached Imerati. Her gaze seemed to wander around the Warden’s uniform. “Yet, a simple representative of our people on a throne is but half the story, no? From what I could gather from the few reports the Grand Cleric forwarded to me, you have caused a significant stir in Amaranthine, for the better of quite many souls, including our own people.”</p><p>Imerati still hadn’t managed to catch one of the many thoughts running through her head. The woman was standing quite close to her at this point. Her curly hair, long enough to reach her chest, was tied to a loose low ponytail, though some strains fell in front of her ears. Her hair was black, yet at the right side, where the brazier stood in the background, hues of dark brown emerged in the orange glow. Her skin was a cool sepia color, occasionally warmer when the flicker of the brazier was stronger. Imerati was overwhelmed by the beauty of the freckles on the woman’s face.</p><p>“My name is Briala. I am honored to finally meet you, Warden-Commander. Following the Grand Cleric’s recommendation of your ambitions, I have come to discuss the future of the elves of Thedas and especially Orlais.”</p><p>Her lips and eyebrows were relaxed, her eyelids only slightly narrowed. Imerati always had had problems reading expressions when not concentrating, she always got more accurate results from voices. What was Briala trying to say, was it neutrality, reservation, curiosity? She met the eye contact Briala tried to establish and noticed that her irises were a deep brown, almost black. There were a few thin lines of lighter brown radiating outwards from Briala’s widening pupils. Imerati wanted to hold that moment, focus on every single hue and detail in those eyes…</p><p> </p><p>Wait. Was Briala expecting a reaction from her? That was a tall order given that Imerati had trouble breathing in regular intervals. Had she not lost the ability to notice her surroundings, she might have caught Leliana and Josephine exchanging a knowing glare with slightly raised eyebrows.</p><p>“Hi…” There was this common misconception spread around about her that she had a way with words. She hoped that Briala hadn’t heard that before, because if that was the case, her expectations would be thoroughly disappointed. “It’s… nice to meet you…”</p><p>Leliana tried to jump to her rescue. “This is the other person I wanted you to meet. Mademoiselle Briala has become a rare voice advocating for elven rights at the Imperial Court and is a close confidante of the Empress.”</p><p>Briala frowned. “’Close’ might be an overstatement, given current developments. There has been a rift appearing between the Empress and I in the last two weeks.”</p><p>“What is the reason for… that?” Imerati wondered.</p><p>“You, Warden-Commander. Empress Celene has blocked any of my attempts of discussing Orlesian commitment to any candidate for the throne of Ferelden. I want to see you on that throne. You are the obvious candidate, the surviving noble with the most land to the title in Ferelden and a war hero of the Fifth Blight. It would be normal for Orlais to send at least an attaché, bringing you Imperial Greetings, but any idea I had Celene just dismissed outright.”</p><p>“I… will always listen to your proposals with great interest,” Imerati promised. “Did my bid for… for the crown tear you from the imperial court?”</p><p>Briala nodded. “That and the fact that Gaspard will run towards Denerim the moment the crown touches your head. He will invade no matter who will be chosen at the Landsmeet, but your presence will give him extra excuses for violence. His campaign will be more disastrous for our people than his continued life already is, especially if he manages to win. Grand Cleric Leliana informed me that Warden-General Neimena had developed a plan to end Gaspard’s reign before it even begins. I wanted to stand at Ferelden’s side seeing that monster getting beaten in his favorite place, the slaughter of the battlefield.”</p><p>Briala’s conclusions were precise, her sense for the symbolic sharp, her care for elves true, her determination on point, her radicalism aflame. Leliana could at least have warned her in advance so that Imerati would have had time to prepare and not make a total fool of herself.</p><p>Concern entered Briala’s voice. “You must be exhausted by the battle. I should not further infringe on your time of rest, Warden-Commander.”</p><p>Imerati tried to shake off her stupor. “Please. Never assume that your presence is unwanted. Nothing could be further from the truth. Also, if you want, please call me Imerati.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Briala is one of the best characters in all of Dragon Age and it is a shame it took me so long to realize it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. It’s the final coronation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Leliana and Imerati discuss politics and crushes. Briala prepares Imerati for the Landsmeet and guides her through the political turmoil. Imerati is crowned Queen of Ferelden with strong deviations from the established traditions.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter briefly discusses violence against a marginalized group committed by a group framed as enforcers of the law and mentions substance abuse of alcohol as a reaction to grief.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 16th day of August, at sunrise</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Imerati pulled the blanket up to shield herself from the sun. Leliana had thrown open the window blinds, interrupting her sleep.</p><p>“My rose, you need to get up, it’s your big day.”</p><p>Mumbling a soft “no”, Imerati rolled herself towards the edge of the bed where Leliana was sitting down and cuddled her head on Leliana’s lap.</p><p>“The Landsmeet will begin at noon, and as there is a given chance that I won’t be back by then to guide you through the political labyrinth, so you will need to talk some people before it starts.”</p><p>“Wait, where are you headed?”</p><p>“I received word from the mages. Sapphia and a comrade seem to have discovered documents during the liberation of Jainen’s circle that could be highly advantageous to us if they aren’t forgeries. I need to reach them as soon as possible.”</p><p>“An advantage so great you’d have yours truly talk to nobles unsupervised?”</p><p>“You’ll have a player to guide you through the proceedings.”</p><p>“Who?”</p><p>“Briala has already volunteered.”</p><p>Imerati was startled. “No!”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Well, you know! Are you trying to wingwoman me, vhenan? Be honest!”</p><p>“I wouldn’t do so without permission. I do actually need to see those documents for myself. Briala is simply the most apt player of the Game in our alliance.”</p><p>“Couldn’t Josephine do a job just as good?”</p><p>“Josie is known as the young upstart ambassador to many nobles. They know of her allegiance to Antiva. If she accompanied you, questions would be raised about Antivan influence in your bid for the crown. Briala’s name is mostly known in hushed whispers, and even those who know her name can’t place an official alignment to her. Also, I am giving you and advanced warning, so it shouldn’t be a surprise.”</p><p>Imerati let out a long sigh. “You know, you could have equally prepared me for our first meeting after the siege. I still feel so embarrassed thinking back.”</p><p>“Yes, I’m sorry. I forgot for a second how similar our taste in women can be.”</p><p>Imerati threw a quick glance of disbelief at her girlfriend. “Wait a second…”</p><p>Leliana laughed. “I am simply better at hiding a crush than you are, my rose.”</p><p>“When… when did that happen?”</p><p>“Court culture makes it very difficult to distinguish between flirtation and courtesy between women, and she played very impressively with that ambiguity when we met a while back in the Imperial Palace Gardens.”</p><p>“Are we sure that she’s into women?”</p><p>“Yes. That she’s a lesbian is a very open secret at court, just as much as her being the Empresses girlfriend.”</p><p>Imerati frowned. “A human woman commanding and using and furthering a colonial apparatus oppressing elves for her own power and an elven woman lacking any official rights, recognition or security? Nobody finds that power imbalance, you know, a tad weird?”</p><p>“Celene’s power monopoly in the relationship is but murmured among the elven servants. The Orlesian Court does not even think of elves possessing the attribute of power, and their entire world is built upon power imbalances. For them, it is a matter with which they may blackmail Celene, not a question of Briala’s well-being.”</p><p>“Urgh. Remind me to destroy Orlais at the earliest convenience.”</p><p>“Is that after the destruction of the circles or after the destruction of the concept of monarchies? And is that entire block situated before or after lunch?” Leliana was seemingly amused at her joke.</p><p>“Fuck you, Leliana,” Imerati grumbled.</p><p>“Not right now, I have to leave at some point. Another thing: I had King Cailan’s armor polished and prepared for you to wear today. Just go next door when you did your makeup, and ring the bell, one of my agents will help you put it on. It is paramount we show the nobility you as you were dressed at the banquet following the end of the Blight.”</p><p>Imerati sighed again. “That armor, as much as I like the aesthetic, was made for a man with a bladder capacity of many hours, something I no longer possess.”</p><p>“Meravas’ new formula for the potions, I presume?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Then you have my sympathies. The Grand Cleric’s robes are a bit more comfortably designed in that way.”</p><p>Imerati pulled Leliana down into the bed with her. “You can’t just stay for five minutes longer?”</p><p>“I am afraid not.” Leliana started kissing Imerati.</p><p>“Will history ever give us just a couple of weeks, creators, a couple of continuous hours just for ourselves where we don’t have to worry about the world?”</p><p>“Worrying about the world is kind of engrained in both of our souls, my rose. Oh, one last thing.” She put a small rose gold object on a chain on the nightstand. “This is a dwarven pocket watch. The latest trend among the Orlesian nobility. The small indicator tells you the hour of the day, the small one tells you the minute into the hour. Thought you might like it.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>“I sincerely hope that I have memorized every important biography and portrait well enough. As you know, this isn’t precisely the field on which I typically play the Game.” Briala was standing in front of a mirror, putting her hair into a bun. On the bed lay a gorgeous turquoise ball gown, made by an elven tailor from Denerim’s alienage extra for the occasion. As Briala was still in her undergarments, Imerati had suggested they postpone their discussion, but Briala had insisted they would need every second of discussion. Imerati hoped her presence didn’t make Briala uncomfortable, and had mentioned that twice so far, both times being reassured that she was here by free invitation.</p><p>“It’s absolutely fine. I should know three quarters of these people by name and face, yet I remember neither.”</p><p>“That’s why I am concerned about not recognizing them myself, Imerati. Anyhow, the boy from Redcliffe should be very much in your favor, given that his father trusted you a lot and you saved both him and his father from demonic possession and death.” Visibly happy with her hair, she stood up and went to the bed to grab the gown and put it on.</p><p>“That means that the Bannorn of Calon, the Arling of Western Hills and the Bannorn of Rainesfere should follow him, given that he is a legitimate heir. The Arling of Riverbreak has sustained such damage in the Blight, that it and the cluster of City Bannorns to its southwest will only send one joined representative. Given that it is you who is recognized as the one saving them from the Blight, it stands to reason that they will immediately vote for you, or even suggest you. Same goes for the Bann of White River. The Teyrnir of Gwaren is heirless, effectively making it crown lands under the legal consolidation of inheritence laws under the late Queen. So, Gwaren is not eligible to…” She stopped as she tried and failed to reach a bit of lacing on the back of the gown. “Would you mind lending me your hands here? This needs to be tightened.”</p><p>Imerati jumped up. “Of course not!” Pulling the lacing together made the heavy cloth of the upper side of the gown fit tightly around Briala’s torso. Given that it was now hard to look away, she stared at Briala’s shoulders for half a second. The freckles seemed to be on Briala’s shoulders as well. Oh creators, Briala’s neck and shoulders were so pretty. She would arrive at her own coronation a completely gay mess. Suddenly remembering her task, she quickly tied the ends of the lacing together. “Done.”</p><p>“Thank you. Now, Denerim has no active Arl*essa after you made Howe a Warden, so it is also crown land. Dragon’s Peak is tricky, since it stakes claims in parts of the Brecilian Forest and your support of Dalish stewardship for Clan Revanadas in Amaranthine will be a challenge to their claims in sovereign Dalish territories, so they might vote against you. The vote of the Arlessa of Amaranthine is self-evident…” Briala looked at Imerati’s face, and Imerati met her gaze. They stared into each other’s eyes for a second.</p><p>Briala shook her head and reached for her shoes. “Pardon me, I just lost myself in thoughts. Where was I? North of Drakon River, yes. Now, the Bannorns of the Southern Lands, Oswin, Winter’s Breath and Hillend would normally be loyal to the Teyrnir of Highever, but the Couslands were all murdered by Howe or the templars, so Highever also belongs to the empty throne and the four mentioned Bannorns will be wild cards. Waking Sea should be against you after the mage rebellion reached Jainen, but they are fiercely loyal to West Hill. After both the Bann’s and heir-apparent’s death at the hands of the templars, his youngest son will most likely vote for the one who avenged his father and brother. Edgehall profits from increased trade with Orzammar after Bhelen’s reforms, which means that they will likely stick with the one who put Bhelen on the Aeducan throne: you.” She seemed to have assembled her outfit. Glancing into the mirror, Briala smiled. “How do I look?”</p><p>“You are so incredibly beautiful, Briala…” Fuck. She just said that one out loud. Why was she like that.</p><p>Both women blushed for a second, looking to the floor. Briala picked up her words again. “Anyhow, we will have only a limited amount of time before the voting process begins. You need half the votes and your opponents may not have more than one vote each.” She inhaled. “I would have a proposal on how to use the time we have: Ignore Dragon’s Peak. Focus on the four central Bannorns. Make White River lead the acclamation process.” She exhaled.</p><p>Imerati wondered why Briala had spoken those last sentences so fast. “Sounds good, let’s do it.”</p><p>“See, I can see myself that it is i…” Briala looked confused. “Wait, you agree?”</p><p>“Yes, why shouldn’t I? What you proposed seems logical, and you have a more intricate knowledge of political proceedings than I do, anyhow. That’s why I am here, at least so I thought.”</p><p>Briala’s disbelief seemed to fade, save for a small rest. “Well then… Imerati, are you ready to make history by becoming Queen?” She pointed to the door.</p><p>“Not one bit, but let’s go.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>“The Heroine of Ferelden, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, Vanquisher of the Talking Darkspawn and Liberator of Denerim, accompanied by her entourage!”</p><p>Creators, the crown guard soldier announcing her entrance into the throne hall had almost shouted directly into her ear. As if crying her titles would make her less of a mage, less of an elf, less hanalen-ma. She had recently learned this term from Neimena and it felt more fitting than the Qunari aqun-athlok. Hanalen-ma had apparently been quite common in the Dales. Imerati wondered if in another world, one where the Dales hadn't fallen, she might have lived a peaceful and happy life.</p><p>There were about a hundred nobles in the hall, scattered into groups, both on the ground levels and on the raised balconies to the left and right. Close to the entrance, on the left was a buffet, and servants ran around taking orders for wines. At the opposite end of the hall, elevated on a platform and surrounded on three sides by yellow drapery, stood the throne of Ferelden, empty.</p><p>On the right side from the entrance, close to the stairs leading up to the balcony, stood Neimena and Josephine, and discussed, as far as Imerati could both hear and understand, the recent findings of an Antivan logician. It seemed equally philosophical and mathematical. On any other occasion, Imerati would have loved to listen to their debate as long as it may last.</p><p>She turned towards Briala. “I am sorry that you weren’t announced as more than ‘my entourage’. You deserve a world that recognizes you as an equal soul, by name.”</p><p>“In Val Royeaux, they would not even have acknowledged my presence in the announcement.” She paused. “You are the first noble I have ever heard actively addressing the issue.”</p><p>“I am no noble.”</p><p>“You should consider yourself one, especially in this hall.” Briala turned to her and saw the anger Imerati couldn’t stop from reaching her face.</p><p>Imerati flinched as Briala tried to place her hand on Imerati’s shoulder. Briala took back her hand.</p><p>“Pardon. I didn’t think you would mind the gesture.”</p><p>“Not at all when it comes from you, it was just unexpected.”</p><p>Briala placed her hand on Imerati’s shoulder again and gently navigated her to an empty corner of the hall. “Look at me.”</p><p>Imerati made eye contact.</p><p>Briala’s face seemed so warm, so understanding. “A couple of hours will be all it takes and then you can drop the act. If you want, you can count the minutes with your pocket watch. A couple hours, and events will trigger that may end the injustices of centuries. I understand your rage. I understand better than many how it is to grow up among those who want you to deny your identity. To end this Game under these circumstances, you need to make at minimum one move within its rules, and these hours will be the one we will make and then we can move on to change the rules. Okay?”</p><p>It made all so much sense when Briala said it. Creators, Imerati had known this woman for barely a week and yet, she seemed to understand her so well.</p><p> </p><p>A man of tall stature, with a full, grey beard, alcohol on his breath and a red nose against his rosy-white skin had approached them while they had been preoccupied with each other.</p><p>Briala turned around. “Bann Sighard of Dragon’s Peak; Arlessa Imerati of Amaranthine. Arlessa Imerati of Amaranthine; Bann Sighard of Dragon’s Peak.” An introduction so formal Imerati wondered if in the Game, it was considered an insult.</p><p>The Bann’s voice seemed a bit sore. “Warden-Commander.” He gulped. “Don’t know if you knew, but the Wardens searched the documents of these damned templars after you fought at Drakon.”</p><p>“In fact, it was my order that the documents be secured for that the victims of the templars could be identified and their families be informed.” What was his game?</p><p>“Well, yeah. Twenty years ago, they took one of my sons. Had thrown around some magic. For every month in these damned twenty years, I paid those bastards gold. Quite a lot. So that my boy could be safe and happy. And every month the told me he was fine. My boy died eight years ago. Harrowing. For eight years, these bastards lied to me. There is no body, no grave. The only thing I now have is a couple of letters by these bastards deciding that they would continue to take my money.”</p><p>Imerati wasn’t surprised. Bribery and preferential treatment for noble children were commonplace in the circle. That story completely fit the templar’s modus operandi. “I am sorry for your loss, Bann. Every day, we lose more children to the Harrowings.”</p><p>“Yeah. Well. There are people here saying you’ll run for the crown. You have given me the first honest news of my boy in years. I’ll vote for you today and then give the Bannorn back to the crown.”</p><p>Briala reacted first. “We thank you for your support, Bann. We will make sure no parent will ever have to feel the pain you experience again.”</p><p>The man nodded and silently walked away again.</p><p> </p><p>Briala shook her head. “Well, that was unexpected. Takes care of Dragon’s Peak and buys us a vote and some minutes, at least.”</p><p>“That last remark of yours to him sounded surprisingly sincere.”</p><p>“People think the Game is about strategically concealing parts of the truth, but they forget that in a climate where everyone is assumed to withhold at least something, the full truth can be a move just as useful.”</p><p>“What’s the next item on the agenda?”</p><p>“The four unknowns, standing at the balcony right over there. Afterwards, a couple other dialogues and then triggering the acclamation process as a noble following traditional remarks the emptiness of the throne. But let's focus on the Banns first.”</p><p>“What do you suggest we do?”</p><p>“What I suggest?” Briala paused. “They will be most likely be afraid of reform like yours in the violet-gilded freedom and find a way to test your willingness to turn that into policy affecting all of Ferelden. Don’t give in, dodge however you can, shine light on your rhetorical competence.”</p><p>Did Briala just call her rhetorically competent with… admiration in her voice? “Can’t you just lead the dialogue?”</p><p>“I am not the one aiming to become the next Queen of Ferelden here. Not a position I could gain anytime soon and not one I’d enjoy.”</p><p>“What position would you enjoy, then?”</p><p>Briala thought for a long second. “Any that could help our people and that I could reasonably take.” She looked to Imerati again. “Come, we need to make our impression.”</p><p>Imerati sighed and looked down.</p><p>Briala put her hand on Imerati’s shoulder yet again. “Is it that the act of superficially conforming to the violent social expectations of a situation takes you back or is it that you believe your achievements lessened if you don’t resist at every second?”</p><p>Imerati could stare into those beautiful brown eyes again. And she was forging a meaningful connection with Briala. At least the day was worth something. “Both, actually. You hit bullseye with both.”</p><p>“Regarding the latter, I understand. It feels like a betrayal to your cause to do what you consider stopping fighting, even if it is for a second. Yet, so long as gravity connects us to the surface of this world, we cannot completely distance ourselves from it. We will always have to rely on some aspects of this world. As the violence we fight permeates every aspect of this world, we sometimes can’t fight it all. In some situations, we might not yet have the power to fully resist and still be able to walk away. In other situations, we might never gain the power necessary. But trust me, we will fundamentally challenge and change the way this world works. So long as we stay true to the goal of uprooting these unjust hierarchies in full, our allegiance to our values stays unbroken.”</p><p>Sometimes before, in Leliana’s presence, Imerati had wondered if she could love any other woman as much as her. The answer was rapidly approaching a yes.</p><p>“Regarding the former, I am terribly sorry. Do you have any preferred rituals, acts of reaffirmation, or sensory details to ground yourself in the present when the past tries to return?”</p><p>“No, not really. What would you suggest?”</p><p>“There isn’t a set way to do this. For some people, it can be breathing patterns, for some it can be a repeated sound, like the ticking of a clock, for some people, it can be being reminded of the time and date and being described their actual surroundings. Yet others find a reconnection with the present in physical proximity with people they trust…”</p><p>“What, like, hugging or handholding?”</p><p>“If you are so inclined, we can of course hold hands. Hugging will be logistically complicated since you should still be able to converse with people.” Briala smiled warmly.</p><p>“I… sorry. I spoke without thought. I wouldn’t want to abuse your kindness for such selfish aims. Besides, wouldn’t the court start whispering?”</p><p>Briala softly took Imerati’s hand and they carefully interlocked their fingers. Imerati’s heart rate was higher than it had been during the battle with archdemon. “I would not have reacted with an offer if I hadn’t been open to you saying yes.” She let out a short, sarcastic laugh. “And don’t worry. The day Fereldan nobles ask themselves if two women are in a relationship is the day Minrathous runs out of mages. Are you feeling okay, though?”</p><p>Imerati grinned sheepishly for a second. “I feel much better, thanks.”</p><p>“Then let us go.”</p><p> </p><p>The Bann of Oswin was the first of the four to address Imerati. “Ahh, Arlessa. After the many tales of your heroism spreading through the lands like wildfire, it is good to finally meet you in person.” At least he didn’t use her name, that gave her an excuse not using his, if she even had known it.</p><p>“At the celebration after ending the Fifth Blight, I remember Teyrn Cousland speaking about your alliance. Four Bannorns, more united than Highever could ever be, those were his words, if I recall correctly.”</p><p>“Indeed, we have always looked kindly to the Couslands for support. His recent passing has struck us gravely.”</p><p>“My sympathies.”</p><p>“Now, Arlessa, while his name is mentioned, Fergus did often praise the Wardens and occasionally laud you by name. I must say, that surprised me greatly, since Amaranthine and Highever have historically known more discord than friendship.”</p><p>Imerati threw a quick glance at Briala. The woman smiled at her. Imerati focused on the Bann again. “Amaranthine was designated the place of Grey Warden rebirth by the late Queen. I can well understand that Teyrn Cousland felt sympathies for a group that suffered greatly under the Mac Tir conspiracy that took his family away. A dozen of his soldiers who volunteered for the position also joined our ranks, bringing his greetings and representing the hope to rebuild Ferelden from the damage of the Blight. Undoubtedly, the Grey Wardens have gained their former strength again, showing our renewed readiness when we liberated this very city at the request of many who stand in this hall today.” Briala supportively pressed their hands closer together. Apparently, Imerati had said something right.</p><p>“My sympathies for your order’s losses at Ostagar, Arlessa. It is good the Grey Wardens have both a veteran and a scholar as a Commander bringing them back.” Was that supposed to be a jab at her being a mage? “Speaking of which, I heard you are quite versed in Thedosian history. Do you have some familiarity with the political history of the Free Marches?” Now she saw where this was going.</p><p>“Some.”</p><p>“What are your thoughts on the process in which Ostwick gained independence?” Just as she suspected.</p><p>“I understand that grand cleric Heralia is considered a local hero of the city, but I have my difficulties following some of the retellings of events. The ‘Silverite Freedom’ was, after all, a forgery she had created to fool the council of heralds in Val Royeaux, and for what? It gave her the singular authority over the jurisdiction and law-making in the city, to the detriment of the authority of the city council. For her, it was actually a political loss since she didn’t manage to be declared grand cleric of the Free Marches, as she intended by the forgery. Nothing about it warrants naming it a Freedom of any kind. If anything, the council became less free to act, being relegated to a simple symbolic state of only being able to say yes to the grand clerics proposal…”</p><p>A bell being rung very loudly cut Imerati’s words short.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>“Fellow men of Ferelden! We are assembled as the lands from the Waking Sea to the Hinterlands, from the Frostback Mountains to the Brecilian Forest…” The man standing at the end of the hall looked a tad younger than most of the assembled nobles. He was fully shaven, yet his stubble was visible against his white skin from a distance, and he wore his long reddish-brown hair openly. He was, next to Imerati and the crown guard, one of the few individuals wearing a suit of armor.</p><p>“<em>Grâce de la…</em>” Briala was visibly upset. Something was not right.</p><p>“What is happening?”</p><p>“<em>Bryland, il a</em>… The Arl of South Reach is starting the acclamation process. Possibly for his own gain.”</p><p>“Wait, he wants to become king?”</p><p>“Worse. He wants to get the crown but can’t reach a majority as long as you bid for it. He will keep it from you and make you run into what he thinks is your certain death by Gaspard’s hands. I expected many nobles to vote easier for you wagering for your death on the battlefield. Some will undoubtedly want you to die first to Gaspard so that they have time to rally their own defenses. But this is another level of that bet. They seem to underestimate that you are quite resilient in a battle.”</p><p>Imerati wished she could have had the time to come up with a flirty reaction, but there were more pressing issues at hand. “Can Bryland rule under Orlesian occupation?”</p><p>“No. He probably aims to unite the armies of Ferelden after you fall and use his connection to Celene by being relate to a minor branch of the Valmonts via his mother to attack Gaspard from two sides. <em>Créateur</em>! How did I not see this coming?”</p><p>“It isn’t your job to predict and counteract every conceivable move our enemies make.”</p><p>“I’m a bard, Imerati; it is my job.”</p><p>“What now?”</p><p>“Pray to whomever that he is the only vote against you.”</p><p>Bryland seemed to arrive at a conclusion. “… given my extensive military service in the past, I plead You to support me as Your King, to ward of the Orlesian threat once and for all.”</p><p>A woman stood up on the balconies. “Riverbreak and the Southern Cities understand the Orlesian threat and the need for military leadership in these times quite well. That’s why we will support…” Tense silence filled the hall. “… the Arlessa of Amaranthine as Queen of Ferelden. The Blight we have suffered under would have completely destroyed us were it not for the Heroine and the Wardens. They have proven thrice now that no army can destroy Ferelden as long as they stand against it.” Imerati began counting. One vote for her, no abstentions, one vote against her.</p><p>“White River stands with the Heroine of Ferelden.” 2-0-1.</p><p>Imerati leaned over the balcony. “Amaranthine stands for itself.” 3-0-1.</p><p>The young boy Connor Guerrin had a lot of insecurity in his voice. “I… I support the lady father always talked about.” 4-0-1.</p><p>“Calon stands with the Heroine of Ferelden.” 5-0-1.</p><p>“Western Hills stands with the Heroine of Ferelden.” 6-0-1.</p><p>“Rainesfere supports the Heroine of Ferelden as our Queen.” 7-0-1.</p><p>“Edgehall will follow the decision of this assembly.” Well, okay. She still held a sizeable portion of votes over the quorum. 7-1-1.</p><p>A man with a white beard on the lower floors raised his voice. “The Southern Bannorn…” This could go very wrong. “… will follow the decision of this assembly.” Not bad. 7-2-1.</p><p>“Oswin will follow the decision of this assembly.” 7-3-1.</p><p>“Winter’s Breath will follow the decision of this assembly.” 7-4-1.</p><p>“Hillend will follow the decision of this assembly.” And there was her majority, hanging on a thread. 7-5-1.</p><p>Sighard stood up, Bryland’s eyes focused on him. “I support… the Warden-Commander.” He collapsed back into his chair. 8-5-1.</p><p>“Did you see that?” Briala was whispering into Imerati’s ear, standing very close, her arm touching Imerati’s.</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Bryland just had a microsecond of rage in his face. He had bet on Dragon’s Peak voting for him. This is good. Now we just need West Hill to decide in favor of you.” Imerati had but one brain and her gay mind could not process the political game unfolding in front of her while such a beautiful woman was smiling triumphantly next to her.</p><p>A young man, with white skin, blonde, short hair and blue eyes, dressed in very elaborate gold, stood up from a chair on the lower floor, theatrically undid the wrinkles of his robe, walked to the front of the hall, cleared his throat, looked around, and began speaking. “This is supposed to be an honorable Landsmeet of the Kingdom of Ferelden, following our old laws and customs.” Dramatic pause. “Yet I have seen pig pens making better decisions than this assembly!”</p><p> </p><p>Chaos ensued, hundreds of voices talking and screaming in cacophonic discord, dying down after a couple of seconds.</p><p>“I am Fergus Franderel, Bann of West Hill, and apparently, the only of two Fereldan nobles in this hall. For no Fereldan noble of honor would soil the crown of Ferelden by placing it upon a knife-ear!” All eyes focused on Imerati as the man pointed to her. “This… thing is a maleficarum that ran away from the circles, insulted the Divine Andrastian Laws, a proven enemy of the Noble Class, a demon in hiding! A male among the knife-ears, throwing paint all over his face…”</p><p>Game or not, he had crossed several lines. Imerati didn’t care any longer. She didn’t care for the crown, she didn’t care for the standing of the Wardens, the only thing she feared was Briala and Leliana being disappointed, and that feeling paled in comparison to her urge to defend herself. She began screaming over his rant. “BY THE AUTHORITY invested in me as Warden-Commander of Ferelden, I hereby use the Right of Conscription on this man!” She hated having the power of the Right of Conscription, but sometimes, it could be a very effective tool of self-defense.</p><p>Everything turned silent as most eyes in the room widened. The young man stared at her with rage. “YOU INSOLENT INSE…hrmpfth!”</p><p>With a quick tap on the staff on her back, she had frozen his mouth shut. “My first order as his commanding officer is having this man court-martialed for disrespecting a Warden of higher rank. By the treaties between the Fereldan crown and the Grey Wardens, I would like to ask two members of the present crown guard to escort this man to the Warden encampment outside the city gates.” Two soldiers saluted and started dragging the man away through the main gate to the hall.</p><p>The assembly was still silent in shock. Bryland looked at her. After some seconds, he seemed to have understood the situation. “You…  that… You are politicizing the Wardens! This is treason!”</p><p>“The existence of the Wardens is inherently political, Arl. You just call things political when they are a challenge to your power.”</p><p>“Wha… How… West Hill is without heir, their troops without leadership! The Arlessa has just recklessly invited Orlais into Ferelden!”</p><p>The assembly again erupted into a hundred loud voices. Half a minute later, the main gate swung open. The soldier at the main gate managed to scream over the chaos. “THE GRAND CLERIC OF FERELDEN AND ENTOURAGE!” Imerati was actually impressed by the lung volume that soldier must have.</p><p> </p><p>Everything went silent and focused on Leliana, as she, in the outfit of the grand cleric, strode purposefully towards the end of the hall. Imerati was never not mesmerized by her ability to focus attention at will. At her side walked a woman in enchanter’s robes and several of her agents. The latter began dispersing into the crowd of nobles. She stopped right before Bryland and turned around, blocking him half from being viewed from the hall. Leliana sent a wink to Imerati. Imerati decided she was entirely too gay for a career in Fereldan politics.</p><p>“Honored assembly! By the Maker’s grace, a discovery concerning noble succession has been made in Jainen recently as Chantry documents in the former possession of the templars there have been turned back to the Chantry. Copies will be handed to you at once, though I stand as witness for their authenticity.”</p><p>The enchanter stepped forward and began speaking. “My name is Théroigne. Though I have been raised in Jader and taken captive by Orlesian templars at a young age, my birthplace is Highever. You all operate under the rule of blood lines. Given that I am the daughter of Bryce Cousland and Leandre Franderel, you would probably consider me the Teyrna of Highever. Also, since I just met my half-brother on the way here for the first time, him being in chains, Leliana told me that I am also the Bann of West Hills by birthright.”</p><p>Surprised murmuring and whispering among the nobles as scrolls were passed around.</p><p>“My first act as Teyrna of Highever and Bann of West Hills is using both votes assigned to these titles to voice my full and utter support for the Heroine of Ferelden as Queen of Ferelden. My second act in both titles is declaring her the heiress to both the Franderel and Cousland line and commander of the army of Highever and West Hills. My third act, as the Bann of West Hills, is urging the Waking Sea Bannorn to extend the same support to the Heroine. My last act in both titles is stepping down from them, yielding all the power they might hold to the Heroine.”</p><p>The assembly looked to the Bann of the Waking Sea in  tense anticipation. “Waking Sea…” She sighed. “…will follow the decision of the Bann of West Hill.”</p><p>Briala raised her voice after letting out a short and honest laugh that send warm shivers through Imerati’s body. “Long live Imerati, Queen of Ferelden, first of the Elven line!”</p><p>And last of the Fereldan monarchs, Imerati wanted to add. Briala whispered into Imerati’s ear, still laughing. “The Grand Cleric still needs to affirm the decision of the Landsmeet, that’s why everybody is staring at her.”</p><p>Leliana looked around, then looked towards Imerati. “Long live Imerati, Queen of Ferelden!” The assembly broke down into chaos once again, but this time more positively.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Imerati was in her Grey Warden uniform again and carrying her staff on her back. Walking towards the throne platform on the blue carpet in the middle of the hall, she saw many faces in the crowd. Usually, the monarch-to-be would invite the nobles of the realm into the hall and fill any remaining open space with hand-picked knights. Most nobles, however, were returning to their lands, something that symbolically meant a sign of distrust in the one who would take the throne. Imerati had not minded at all. She had invited the elves of the alienage at first, then representatives of the collectives in Amaranthine, then any willing citizen. She saw many faces among the crowd clearly astonished to see a palace for the first time. The room was bursting with people, the balconies were just as overcrowded as the ground space.</p><p>On the steps towards the throne platform, at each side, would normally stand six members of the crown guard as an honor guard. Imerati had decided that she wanted one side to be Grey Wardens, the other members of the ambitiously named Army of the Mage Rebellion Sapphia had proclaimed after the fall of Jainen’s circle.  The mages looked at her with admiration as she took the steps up.</p><p>Now, normally, two people would stand upon the platform when the monarch-to-be arrived: The Grand Cleric and a high-ranking member of the Fereldan nobility. This was supposed to tell the monarch that they had their crown as a Divine Right and by the will of the aristocracy. While yes, to the right of the throne stood Leliana, but Imerati would have hardly not wanted her girlfriend there. What was different is that next to Leliana stood Théroigne as the representative of the freed mages, next to her, Neimena, as the reminder of the promise to support the return of the Dales to the Dalish.  To the left of the throne stood Briala, as a representative of the elves of Thedas, next to her, Shianni, spokeswoman for Denerim’s alienage.</p><p>Arriving at the top of the stairs, the first order of ceremony was a blessing by the Grand Cleric, normally the monarch would kneel now. They had decided that Imerati and Leliana would literally and figuratively see eye to eye for this, standing left and right rather than facing the hall and the throne respectively. Leliana’s blessing was more of a prayer to her god, telling him to recognize the kindness and determination in action. It was a bit unusual, but did the ceremonial job. After exchanging the traditional curtseys that followed the blessing, they kissed. That had no evident symbolic function, however, Imerati had insisted that she wanted to make her gayness center-stage in the coronation.</p><p>What followed was not bound by Fereldan tradition. Leliana retreated to her place next to the throne, and Neimena took her place. Now Imerati kneeled down. Neimena spoke a variant the Elven principles of the Vir Tanadhal, one that once had belonged to the Emerald Knights, and was partially modernized by Neimena. Imerati swore fealty to the principles it encompassed every time Neimena had explained them. The Vir Assan meant always moving towards the goal like an arrow towards a target. The Vir Bor'assan, to be flexible but never give up, like a bow. And, lastly, the Vir Mien'harel, the determination to pursue change and respect those who defend themselves. Once she stood up and faced the crowd, Briala once again announced her as the Queen of Ferelden, this time to the assembled public. Roaring applause followed.</p><p>Imerati began her speech. She had anticipated this moment for a while now. “My fellow souls, the world has endured much violence. Many here have survived the Blight extending its corruption towards Denerim last year. Some in this room are survivors of the Battle of Amaranthine. Many still feel the anguish the templars brought to Denerim in the last weeks. Yet others have survived the violence within circles of magi. Many here know the anger and despair of generations of violence within the alienages. Others again are scrambling to hold the rests of their cultural memory together, seeing at fall apart due to the violence of the Chantry and Orlais. Almost everyone in this room has known the violence of being ruled, the violence of poverty, the violence of powerlessness at one point in their lives.</p><p>No such violence should exist in the world. Every soul is entitled to a life free of violence, a life in which they are entitled to the necessities for surviving and thriving.</p><p>As my first act as Queen, I hereby declare the servants of the palace free from their servitude. For the rest of their lives, they will be entitled to payment from the royal coffers, and they still possess the right to sleep and live in their palace quarters. They are hereby no longer required to take orders from anyone in the palace. I furthermore hereby declare the palace itself the collective property of all elves of Thedas, to be used by any group who wants to in a way they seem appropriate. All matters of administration will move to the former Guerrin estates close to Denerim’s marketplace.</p><p>I hereby disband the Teyrnir of Highever, the West Hill Bannorn and the Arling of Denerim. Any land used for agriculture and any infrastructure and housing is now under collective ownership by the locals, hereby freeholders under the law. The organization and administration should follow the violet-gilded freedom of Amaranthine.</p><p>I hereby declare all elves in Ferelden as freeholders under the law, free to chose professions, free to carry weapons and defend themselves, free to pursue education, free to live where and how they want. I hereby disband the rest of the crown lands. Any lands in which Dalish tribes live are hereby transferred to the stewardship of their respective tribes. The same applies to the Brecilian Forest. Those lands are hereby also considered the collective lands of all elves in Thedas. Any elf arriving in Ferelden is entitled to these rights and privileges. As by the example of the the elven Dales before the Orlesian invasion, I hereby officially sanction the recreation of the Order of Fade Hunters as to be overseen by General Neimena and Keeper Velanna.</p><p>I hereby declare all mages in Ferelden free. Free to assemble, learn and thrive. Any mage arriving in Ferelden is entitled to the same rights and privileges. Both circles of Ferelden are hereby officially disbanded. The revolutionaries of Kinloch Hold and Jainen are heroes. Any member of the order of templars and the order of seekers is hereby an enemy of Ferelden, free to be apprehended should they show their faces here. Under the sanctioning of the Grand Cleric of Ferelden, I hereby declare the Fereldan branch of the order of templars disbanded.</p><p>May the future be a blessing and allow this world to heal.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have a hard time placing certain events of Masked Empire in the timeline. Given how horribly sapphic issues were handled in it, I have elected that I don't have to minutely calculate the setting of every scene. That being said, I have kept the general idea of Celene being an asshole, I have just decided on a couple of moments of her assholery being canon here and others having not yet happened. I really didn't plan on Imerati being an anti-Celene in the way she treats the people around her, the contrast happened by accident as I tried to write Imerati as an anarchist who tries her best to help people.</p><p>My first draft ever for this fanfiction summarized the last few chapters as "somehow make Imerati Queen". Four words have turned into roughly fifty thousand so far. This chapter was a lot of fun to write. Be gay, destroy the status quo.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Two tales of a city</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>An assistant of the professor for law is called to a crime scene in the alienage of Val Royeaux to help the investigation and has some thoughts about the disparities within the city.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter discusses violence against marginalized and empoverished groups as well as a murder scene and a corpse in graphic detail. It also comments on the legal struggle of existing as a trans person in a society with rigid, cisnormative laws and hierarchies.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 16th day of August, after nightfall</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t the worst of times. Max had wondered before what the worst time to take this route would be. The commotion on the small alleyways would be worse at morning, when the day laborers and beggars where all simultaneously trying to get anywhere. “Getting anywhere” was also a bit hyperbolic in this context. He knew that most people that landed here wouldn’t leave this place meaningfully any time soon. The Quartier de la Lumière was the end destination for all humans of Val Royeaux that fell from society’s grace. He scoffed. Ever since Emperor Etienne II proclaimed begging illegal except for those who had come to grave bodily harm, the nobles would judge beggars by a very binary concept of disabilities. Someone who had an illness of the eyes might still be able to see something under certain circumstances. Some people need crutches to walk, but only on certain days. Nobles would find or forge examples of beggars temporarily having more manageable symptoms to punish them. When the beggars then complained, many aristocrats – so the anecdote – remarked that the only time a blind man may see is when the light of the Maker shined upon them. Hence, that name was given to this place of misery.</p><p>Yet, there was no light found in these small alleyways and walkthroughs that many nobles Max had known would deem unwalkable due to their narrowness. He held up his lantern and looked around. The structures around him were all built from assorted pieces of timber, fabrics of various kinds and on rare occasions, stone. The origin of the quarter was rumored to be after the old aristocratic quarter burned down. The fire fighting units had been withdrawn after the beginning of the Steel Age, when the alienage was officially declared next to it. When the next major fire hit the city, as it does every half century, the old quarter burned fully to the ground. That was the reason why some structures here today were build on half-destroyed foundations of sandstone and granite. Buildings were stacked dense in some spots and in others, one could find veritably vast yards, usually filled with tents or debris. There were no street maps for this quarter like for the Quartier Royeaux. There couldn’t be. The layout of this quarter changed every few years, ongoing destruction followed rebuilding out of desperation.</p><p>He pulled out his compass first and his pocket-watch after that. Still, his sense of direction hadn’t fooled him through the twists and turns of the quarter. He would be mere minutes from the alienage walls now. It was six minutes past ten. The Professeure had sent him the missive requesting his presence at the scene of the crime three hours ago and he had chosen the most direct route to the alienage. Maybe the Avenue Couronne would have been less direct, but faster. He wasn’t sure at this point. A couple of voices, too close for his liking, broke through the night.</p><p> </p><p>“We really did make good loot last night, monsieur. I assure you, you will be pleased.” A voice full of despair.</p><p>Max pressed himself against the closest wall and carefully moved away from the source of the conversation. It was easy to place it around the corner he might have taken if he had been a few seconds earlier.</p><p>“You better pay up, Grenouille. Your performance last month was abysmal.” A voice full of self-aggrandizement.</p><p>A voice belonging to someone whose status was never questioned. The young heir to the title of Chevalier de Pâturon, one of the Chevaliers who had jurisdiction over part of Val Royeaux in certain circumstances. Every minute aspect of law in the city belonged to a different noble. He really didn’t want to run into a Chevalier right now. They had mocked him ever since the trials started as the “lost child of house Champverte”. He didn’t need more of that today.</p><p>As few as Max could make out from the conversation while he sneaked away, Pâturon was extorting some low-level criminals. It was a common occurrence that Chevaliers showed up at the highest points of criminal hierarchies here in the north of the city. On two separate occasions, the Professeure had tried to intervene on the behalf of poor families who had been caught between the interests of criminal networks. Both times, she had had to fend of attempts on her life and the cases went into nothingness. Max sighed in relief as the voices became a faint part in the backdrop of the voices of the quartier. Taking out his compass again, he reconsidered his route to the alienage.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>The elven woman that had opened the door after he had knocked flinched and shrieked as she saw him.</p><p>The Professeure looked up from her notebook and glanced at him laconically.  “Maximilien, didn’t I express quite directly that you are not supposed to show your status at all?” She looked to the elf who seemed frozen in place. “Ara seranna-ma, Vano. My assistant is new to his position and doesn’t seem to have read my directions well enough. Despite his kin, he will not harm anyone here. He has proven trustworthy in the past.” Even while her face was resting, her eyebrows were naturally raised and her grey eyes seemed to judge everything around her. Now, there was an extra level of judgement both in her voice and her gaze.</p><p>Max followed it mentally to the longsword at his back. As he had read the missive and the instructions, he was only wearing commoner’s clothes. He carried his sword for self-defense. As long as the trials were ongoing, his status as Chevalier remained uncertain, yet the courts had ruled he could still carry his longsword in public, a longsword of a kind that only Chevaliers were allowed to… <em>Merde</em>.</p><p>The elf mustered him with a bit more confidence. Her skin was as white as his, yet her cheeks, sunken in, seemed to have lost some blood as a reaction to the panic he seemed to have caused in her. Her hair was between white and gray and slicked back. She finally shook her head. “And I have sworn that no Chevalier’s blade shall cross the threshold of my home until the day I die. Yet an associate of Julie will be welcome here. Leave your sword outside, boy.”</p><p>He fumbled to unbuckle the sheath and place it against the outside wall. “I am so sorry. Hahren Vano, was it?”</p><p>“You might be the first of your type to say that title, and I sense a modicum of respect in your words.”</p><p>“I am sorry. I did not mean to scare anyone.”</p><p>“Your words ring hollow, boy. Your intention is an explanation, but no excuse.”</p><p>He looked to the ground in shame. “Pardonnez-moi,” he whispered under his breath.</p><p>The Professeure didn’t look up from her notebook. “You can send him away again, if you like.”</p><p>The elf sighed. “You said you needed his help, Julie. I’ll respect that.”</p><p>“Ma serannas, ma falon. Come in, Maximilien, maybe you can set things right again.” The Professeure still was fixed on her notes and took out a sharpened piece of pressed coal to seemingly add something to them.</p><p>Max nodded wordlessly and entered through the timber doorframe. The Professeure flipped the page of her notebook and continued writing.</p><p> </p><p>Grande Professeure de l’Université d’Orlais Julie de Girond was not a woman Max had expected to grow close with when he enrolled. His first area of study had been archaeology, but necessity had driven him to the study of law. As his journey had brought him into conflict with the Council of Heralds, of all institutions, he had scrambled to find a way to hold against it. And then he remembered her. The name of de Girond had made rounds when she ascended to the leadership position of the Département six years ago and had begun taking on cases of the poor and downtrodden of Val Royeaux pro bono. The first time Max had heard of her, he had still been a depressed teenager. Marriages were a noble institution constructed around procreation, and it had been focused on a man marrying a woman to have children that could inherit their titles and possessions. Julie had uncovered, over time, dozens of mistakes in the official documentations within the families that ruled the Council traditionally and threatened to make them public. The rest of the families feared their status challenged and just granted her the demand she had placed upon them: to let her to marry her mage girlfriend. Max’ own family connected to a minor line of an important Herald family and he remembered his parents fighting upstairs a lot of nights those five long years ago. The only thing the public got to hear was the story of a woman getting a royal exemption on the official marriage laws. Her uneasy truce with the Council had held since then. When he approached her for his case a year ago, the legal back-door fighting flared up anew.</p><p>Given that the nobility had known her only superficially, they had been unprepared for a Grande Professeure to act that much out of status and stir up so many controversies. She didn’t wear a mask, since she was of common status, but she dressed in clothes as fine as the nobility. Today, she wore a long grey jacket with ornate white details stitched unto it at the shoulders. While it was buttoned-up with two rows of three  silver buttons each, the collar of her white and gold blouse reached to the top of her neck. Her white silk pants and black boots were certainly well-tailored, but almost militaristic in the sharpness with which the edges were accentuated. It was one of her favorite outdoors outfit, since it could easily conceal her two daggers and several throwing knifes. He may have been drilled to fight as a Chevalier since early childhood, but when they were ambushed on the second case she had brought him to, it had been mostly her who had defended him. She was never seen without makeup, eyeliner both above and below her eyes, meeting in a long and sharp wing. Today, the eyeshadow on her lid was a dark blue meeting a glittery silver above that almost reached up to her well-defined eyebrows. Her lipstick was a hue of blue that hinted towards violet. Wearing violet was a privilege that only the royalty had and could temporarily extend to nobles. Her lipstick showed the closest a commoner could get to the royal color without committing a felony. While the rest of her makeup was quite expressive, the faint blush on her full cheeks almost was invisible on the warm golden ochre of her skin. Her wavy, long hair rested on her back. When she wore a noble dress, she could turn invisible on a banquet. But whenever she chose to attend one, her behavior and presentation were a façade to hide she was there to disrupt the traditional goings-on of the Game.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ve already assessed the crime scene and took the witness statements. However, since I need you to collect some information for me and give a medical assessment, you should see the victim yourself.” She put her charcoal pencil away and loudly closed her notebook with the hand that had held it before and motioned him to follow her.</p><p>He had counted himself lucky to grow as tall as many men his age. In this weird social standing of his, it was actually a relief to once not be the odd one out in a group. However, currently walking through the apartment mostly held up by wood and the occasional stone support, he needed to constantly duck awkwardly to not hit the ceiling with the top of his head. The Professeure and the Hahren seemed to barely be able to stand up straight themselves. The floor creaked miserably, the wood shaking under every step he took. While Max had estimated the alienage’s architecture to be paltry, he still hadn’t expected it to be a step down from the housing in the Quartier surrounding the alienage. And this building was one of the better ones he had seen, being close to the giant tree in the center of the alienage. Close to the gates, there had been only ruins that had rapidly emptied when he had entered. He now understood why and cursed himself silently for not having thought about the relevance of his sword.</p><p>They arrived in a room in a corner of the apartment, Max behind the two women. Two windows, on either of the outer rough wooden walls, let in a lot of noise and fresh air as well as the summer heat. They were but closeable with some rough closeable wood panels on hinges, but the hooks to keep the put in place seemed to have been snapped by the rust. There were two beds against each of the walls and a simple closet in the corner. A simple set of candles rested flickering on an unassuming nightstand. On one of the beds lay the corpse of an elf. Upon seeing him, Max froze.</p><p>The Hahren scoffed. “Is the Chevalier truly so unfamiliar with the sight of a dead elf?”</p><p>Max began to stutter. “Uh, I’m not… not unless the trials… my status is… is to be determined… I mean, it is still open to debate if I’m… a Chevalier.”</p><p>“My greatest sympathies,” the elf sarcastically exclaimed.</p><p>A long, awkward silence emerged, only to be broken by the Professeure. “Do you want to take a closer look while I give you a rundown of the facts so far?”</p><p>He nodded thankfully and stepped closer. The elf lay on his back, his eyes open wide, his narrow face frozen in a grimace. His hair as well as his eyebrows were a vibrant orange-red color with some strains greying, his eyes a light blue. His skin had a tan that any white commoner would gain from years of working under sunlight. He wore simple woolen clothes, very common among the poor in Val Royeaux.</p><p>“His name is Malen. He was born fifty-two years ago, his parents both having generations of ancestry in the alienage. By official permit, he worked daily in the Port Civil. He lived here, in this room, for the last few weeks, as Vano lets many of her kin sleep here if the necessity arises.”</p><p>Permits to officially work under the minimal protection offered to the lower working classes were rarely granted to elves, but they weren’t unheard of. Someone in the halls of nobility must have favored Malen to give him that opportunity. Max’ gaze wandered to the obvious cause of death. A long, gaping wound stretched diagonally across the man’s chest. The wound could have only been fatal, given how deep it was.</p><p>“He was last seen yesterday, in the late afternoon, attending a wedding celebration at the other side of the alienage. Afterwards, he was found dead early this afternoon by the Chevalier de Pourrin who saw the corpse from the outside and started accusing Vano of murder…”</p><p>“He demands I pay him fifty gold coins once he returns or he’ll have me hanged, fenedhis lasa! Maker, there isn’t a single gold coin that has ever made its way into these walls!”</p><p>“’Once he returns’ means what timeframe exactly?” Max asked.</p><p>The Professeure answered wryly. “Whenever the ‘military exercise’ in Jader ends. If he even returns and doesn’t get a noble title once the Grande Duc annexes Ferelden for Orlais, and by ‘for Orlais’ I mean ‘for his own glory’. From everything I could gather, Pourrin left for Jader on the explicit demand of Gaspard at six this afternoon, a few minutes after I arrived here. Given that he was travelling by horse, there was no chance to catch him and ask some questions.”</p><p>Max seldomly heard that tone of suppressed anger when the Professeure spoke; it was her reaction to losing a vital piece in her strategies.</p><p>She continued. “Vano was at the wedding celebrations during the entire night and stayed with a number of friends at the other side of the alienage. Unfortunately, since Pourrin is working under his Right Majeste, there will be no trial, and even if there were one, elves are not counted as eligible witnesses.”</p><p>He frowned. A tighter alibi could hardly exist. Yet he also knew that most Chevaliers would extort and kill elves for less. Maker, men like Gaspard would often raid alienages with hunting parties for fun, treating elves no better than wyverns in the wild. He had heard all the stories, yet it was different being so close to a very specific example.</p><p>“Did he have any family?” he inquired.</p><p>“You already know he had parents, boy. Or do you mean to say ‘did he have a wife under the Chantry and did she produce heirs’ like you shemlen usually mistreat the word family?”</p><p>Max blushed. “Uh…”</p><p>“If you need to know, he had a child with a human woman working for some nobles about two and a half decades ago, but he didn’t talk a lot about them. We all are his family, and he is family to us.”</p><p>“Your task here is to track down this woman or the child and inform them of his passing, Maximilien,” the Professeure ordered.</p><p>“Noted.”</p><p>Suddenly, he noticed something inside the wound that shouldn’t be there. “Would it be possible… for me to remove the piece of metal in his wound?”</p><p>The Hahren frowned. “You tell me, boy, if it is possible.”</p><p>Max unpacked a pair of silk gloves, put them on, and carefully began removing the metal from the wound. It had lodged itself there perpendicularly to the direction of the cut itself and was slightly above it.</p><p>The Professeure raised an eyebrow as he showed it to the women. It was the greater part of a small knife, showing a thick coat of rust at the side were the tip seemed to have broken off, but still having some ornamental engravings around the sides. There was a layer of dried blood on the blade. Part of the blade was chipped away at the edge.</p><p>“This knife has been passed down through his ancestors since one and a half centuries. It was his great pride. It was the largest a knife carried by an elf is allowed to be,” said the Hahren.</p><p>“Do you know when the tip broke of?” Max was adamant to show at least some modicum of usefulness.</p><p>“To my knowledge, it has always been unbroken.”</p><p>“Then let me venture a guess here. The way parts of the blade are chipped away suggests great force was applied to it by another, sturdier blade. The blunt and unusually wide way the body is wounded around the blade suggests that the tip had already been broken off before it was lodged into his chest. That, itself, most likely happened when the bigger slash wound was applied. The tip must have broken off before.”</p><p>“So you are saying that he used the knife before and it was damaged, he tried to parry with the knife, but the swing of the murder weapon was so strong that the knife was partly lodged into his chest?” the Professeure concluded.</p><p>“Parried or counterattacked, but yes. All of that seems most plausible. The murderer carried a heavy, bladed weapon. I can’t tell you what exactly. Anything from a large cleaver to a halberd.”</p><p>“It was an outsider who was allowed into the alienage without question that killed him, that much is obvious, but your reconstruction of the death itself is a useful detail, Maximilien.”</p><p>“Well, at least we know that the knife wasn’t stolen. Malen had always been very loud about us needing to defend ourselves more directly. He truly lived for the Mien'harel.”</p><p>“What was his goal?” Max asked, trying to mask his lack of knowledge of elven expressions.</p><p>The Hahren sighed. “There is a human land and property owner who calls most of the alienage his possession. He has been raising rent on the houses close to the Vhenadahl every month now. Parts of the houses have been torn down and rebuild marginally better to hike up prices even more. Malen… had a very direct approach regarding this man. He wanted him dead. I argued with him that killing the man just would result in more problems. It has been a great cause of discord between us lately.”</p><p>“What is the landowner’s name?”</p><p>“Jacques de Tenuelouis.”</p><p>Max turned towards the Professeure. “Seems like we have a suspect, don’t we?”</p><p>She shook her head. “We actually have a couple. There have been Chevaliers roaming the alienage last night, according to witnesses. Your next task will be to inquire from the gate guards which Chevaliers were here when he was killed. But Tenuelouis has an interesting motive, no? No matter who struck the blow, there might be some who have ordered it, and they are equally to blame. I’ll  have word send to you tomorrow at noon for an invitation to a tea party.”</p><p>Sure. Max had learned that her actions always made sense, even if he only understood some of them afterwards.</p><p>She turned towards the Hahren. “Thank you for your patience, ma lethallan.” She turned to speaking Elvish and exchanged a few sentences and a long hug with the elf.</p><p>“Let’s go, Maximilien.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 17th day of August, a bit more than thirteen hours past midnight<br/>
</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The Professeure arrived three minutes before the designated time of quarter past one. Max had been waiting for a bit more than five minutes. His favorite private teacher had always taught him to be ten minutes early to any appointment, and he largely followed that advise. He didn’t mind the waiting. It had given him some time to look around. The Chevaliers had always said that the mansion of a minor noble in Val Royeaux was larger than the royal palace in Denerim, and he wasn’t sure how that was supposed to work as an insult against Ferelden. The De Ghislain Estate was close to the inner Palace District, yet could fit as its own piece into the palace complex. The mansion was vast and vibrant, a main building of five stories, appearing as a square on any floor plan. Two wings of three stories each connected it to the two side buildings, forming an L-shape, behind which was a vast garden. From what he could see through the detailed and beautiful bronze fence, there was at least one fountain and multiple old trees there. The façade of the main building, in the red and orange of polished sandstone, was ornamented with statues and crests, figures from mythology and history, allegories and objects of cultural importance. The roofs were made of blue slate with occasional bronze ornaments. Some of the windows were so large and colorful, their glass could be enough to build a rural cathedral.</p><p>The Professeure had chosen a long dress with full sleeves for the occasion. It was quite plain by noble standards, in a simple dark red color. Among the nobles competing for the most extravagant apparel, she would ironically stick out by that choice. Fully intentional, Max assumed.</p><p>“Maximilien! Punctual as always, I see.”</p><p>“You know me well enough by now, Madame Professeure.”</p><p>They walked towards the entrance and she rang the bells. Max looked at the carvings in the dark oak door. That door alone must have been worth a dockworkers yearly salary. When it was opened, the Imperial Court Enchanter greeted the Professeure profoundly.</p><p>“Julie! I am overjoyed by your visit, and very thankful for you to bring up the idea.”</p><p>“Vivienne, you know that few people in this city can stand my spontaneous self-invitations. I am thankful that you keep up with it. You are a great friend.”</p><p>“As are you, my dear!”</p><p>Max had heard of the Court Enchanter before. He respected her unwillingness to give up regardless of the pressure the nobility placed on her. She had gained a favorable position at the Empresses table against all odds.</p><p>“And you must be Maximilien, heir to the title of Chevalier de Champverte. Julie has told me quite a lot about you.”</p><p>Max put on a smile. “Most people would reject at least parts of that statement.”</p><p>“But I highly trust Julie will find a way to make it official.”</p><p>“Certainly.”</p><p> </p><p>The Court Enchanter began guiding them through a corridor. It was at least one and a half times as high as Max. There were ornate drawers every couple of meters, some had busts of historical figures and nobles on them. The wallpapers were intricate, a dark green with gold details. Every so often, there were the occasional candleholders or paintings of historical events on the wall. His steps were silent on the rugs.</p><p>At the end of the corridor, there was a large, open two-story room filled to the ceiling with bookcases. The second story could be reached via a spiral staircase and featured a tall handrail to keep people from falling down. On the other side of the room, close to a window with half-closed blinds, was a fireplace, empty as not needed at the moment. The sandstone radiated a hint of stored, colder temperatures. In the middle of the room was a bronze and glass table with four chairs of matching colors around it. On the table were pastries and a tea set. As the Court Enchanter offered him, he took the seat closest to the window.</p><p>“Tell me, Julie, how is Amelia holding up these days? I haven’t heard word from her in two weeks and am a bit concerned.”</p><p>The Professeure laughed for a moment. Honest laughs were quite the rarity in noble gatherings. “I am afraid you are not blameless for her social silence. The treatises you had imported from the Free Marches, especially the ones on specialized spell wisps, have completely engulfed her attention. She has rarely left her study in the last few weeks, and at most, to catch some food or water.”</p><p>“Then I am most sorry for indirectly causing your beloved’s newfound obsession.”</p><p>“She is seldomly so happy, and I wouldn’t exchange that for anything in the world. I am in your debt.”</p><p>Amelia was a member of a small group of four former circle mages supporting Vivienne as Court Enchanter, a position that has left them with the title of “Imperial Circle”. As far as Max was aware, the Professeure and Amelia had been a couple for a year before the Court Enchanter had called Amelia from Montsimmard to Val Royeaux, after which Julie swiftly forced the nobility to accept their marriage. Why Amelia had been chosen was a murmur among the nobles. Max knew it was because the Court Enchanter and the Professeure had been friends for a long time before. He had always wondered more how the Professeure had dated a woman in a circle without being a circle member herself.</p><p>“There have been reports of newly developed spell wisp practices in the Fereldan circles. Usually, Fereldan and Orlesian circles do not like sharing results with each other, but depending on the developments of current political events, she might have a chance to study even more in a few months time.”</p><p>The Professeure sighed. “Should the Warden-Commander of Ferelden truly ascend to the throne, the Grand Duc will not hesitate a second to start a war that will be as bloody as the Blight. I am dreading that carnage.”</p><p>Max always doubled his attention when there was talk about the Heroine of Ferelden. His legal name change was nearly tearing apart the Council of Heralds as well as his family, but the Heroine was rumored to have not only changed her name but also have access to magic to tweak her body to her liking. He always silently wondered if there were similar magic practices but for men like him.</p><p> </p><p>There was knocking at the door and a servant entered the room. “Madame, there is a Monsieur Tenelouis at the door, shall I accompany him here?”</p><p>“Please.”</p><p>The man who joined them was unseeming to Max at first. His skin was white, his face wide and his cheekbones and chin pronounced. He wore a white, short wig, incredibly unfitting to his brown eyebrows, and a white and gold suit reserved to the richest of the non-noble citizens of Val Royeaux. His beard was cleanly shaven and the few irregularities of his skin were hidden beneath a white makeup powder. This was a typical man among the bourgeois new aristocracy. Max hated all of them equally.</p><p>He greeted the Court Enchanter first. “Madame de Fer, I am honored by your invitation.”</p><p>She gestured him to take the seat reserved for him.</p><p>“Grande Professeure de Girond, it is an honor as well.” The Professeure’s face morphed to an obviously fake smile.</p><p>“And the invitation mentioned the young de Champverte. If I may be so frank, I can hardly understand your ambition. You are a self-made man that should not have to fight for a noble title. You are the valedictorian of your age-group, and with your major, you could become a Professeur of Archaeology yourself. If you continue to study law, you could become an excellent and successful lawyer. Why spend so much energy on acquiring a minor title of a failing nobility?”</p><p>Max had to suppress laughter at being described as a <em>self-made man</em>. And Tenuelouis, as obnoxious as he was, had dropped an inkling of a right idea just there. He would like to just become a Professeur of Archaeology. Max wasn’t interested in being a Chevalier, but some of the legal case rested upon an interpretation of noble naming conventions. His knightly privileges could be vital for future legal proceedings. And he had made a lot of enemies just speaking up. A Chevalier had a much lower expectancy of being attacked in the streets. He was fully aware that his privileges were unjust, yet it was difficult to just give up the physical security they provided.</p><p>The Professeure answered in Max’ stead. “Fascinating that you speak of a failing nobility, and yet I faintly remember a legal precedent seventeen years ago, a plea to the Council of Heralds regarding the restitution of a noble family title that was rejected. Help my fickle memory, what was the title in question again? Was it ‘Comte de Tenulouis’?” She took a sip from her tea.</p><p>Tenulouis smiled diplomatically. “We all make mistakes in our youth. I thoroughly understand now how that rejection was a chance. None of us in this room have the noble system to thank for our current status. We are academics, lawyers, advisors and investors because we worked for it. We achieved what we are due to our own abilities and diligence. The nobility elevates people into power based on blood, but is that truly the best way to administrate? Wouldn’t, if those of fitting abilities held the reigns of Orlais, everybody profit from it? Aren’t some people just better at setting the direction of the lives of the many? The nobility doesn’t create the best rulers, it is set to fail at some point.”</p><p>He smiled triumphantly. “Now, the invitation mentioned questions regarding the alienage property. Do you wish to invest in the alienage, Professeure? There are many of your colleagues who make the same choice. It is a very profitable investment.”</p><p>She breathed in. “I do indeed have a couple of questions regarding the property in the alienage…”</p><p>Max zoned out from the rest of the conversation. The nobility of Orlais seemed as old as unshakeable, but was that just a collective delusion? Could it fall?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>There are three ways I choose Orlesian names: 1. A very basic pun in French saying how much I don't like chevaliers 2. A more nuanced pun associating a major character with a concept or political group or an individual from the French Revolution 3. I just zoom in on France in Google Earth until there's a small village whose name I can just use.</p><p>Yes, all this sets up my Orlesian Revolution arc where I want to describe how the French Revolution wasn't really that revolutionary and just handed power structures from one very privileged group to another very privileged group. I don't know if I'll ever reach that point in the fanfiction.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Societal judgement</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Imerati is expected to uphold the existing system of law and order. Neimena and Briala discuss the Kingdom of the Dales and Dalish stories. Imerati and Briala share some time alone at the beach and open up about past traumas. The Army of the Mage Rebellion gains a new member. Leliana and Imerati briefly discuss politics and love.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter discusses the carceral state and the violence that comes with law-and-order policies and the intended criminalization of the marginalized that comes with it in some detail. It also discusses the PTSD that comes from incarceration in solitary confinement in detail. It mentions losing ones parents young in life. It discusses toxic relationships and the trauma that causes in a lot of detail. It touches upon the topic of growing up queer in a society that hates queerness and punishes it under the authority of an institution coded to be the catholic church.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 30th day of August, ten and a half hours past midnight<br/></em>
</p><p> </p><p>Imerati despised the role of judge. How could anyone gain insight in another individual’s life by listening to a couple of sentences? Enough insight to make decisions that could drastically alter the life of the person judged? Why should anyone have that power? Why was punishment the first instinct society demanded when looking at a crime and not compassion with the victims or creating circumstances in which that crime would not be repeated? But she held the title of queen for now, and better she was the one to pass acquittals than delegate the task to someone who would dish out harsh punishments.</p><p>There were, except for two Warden soldiers, two other people in her royal audience tent. Next to her silver throne stood Josephine, a golden clipboard with documents and a candle affixed to it in hand. Closer to the entrance stood Whitley Dinslaken, the royal chief prosecutor by title. He was an unseeming man, white, bald, a black moustache on his face, wearing simple scribe’s robes, a ring of keys on the side of his belt. Yet Imerati knew that this man was powerful. He had held his position uninterruptedly from King Maric to her and he was said to be harsh, but just. To Imerati, the suggestion of harshness, especially with the added “but that’s okay because he does it in the name of justice” was a red flag if she ever saw one. But she knew that man had forged a reputation and was an excellent player in the game. Leliana had urged her not to dismiss him outright, but find solid ground to end his position. So she would listen a bit, begrudgingly.</p><p>“Calling the first case of the day: A dwarf, thief and fencer.” Dinslaken’s voice was monotone, but loud enough to lead the guards in front of the tent to pull a dwarf. The dwarf had long black hair, a long black beard, bushy black eyebrows and a thick beard on the upper lips. The dwarf had white skin and extremely light blue irises that almost touched white and several scars running across the right side of the face.</p><p>Imerati tilted her head. “How shall I address you?”</p><p>Dinslaken seemed confused. Josephine stepped closer and whispered in Imerati’s ear. “That’s not the protocol, Your Majesty. The Royal Chief Prosecutor introduces the accused and then first presents the case.”</p><p>Imerati sighed. “Okay, everyone: I hereby decree that the defendant gets to introduce a fitting way of address before the case is presented instead of an introduction by the chief prosecutor.”</p><p>Dinslaken cleared his throat but didn’t say anything.</p><p>The dwarf looked amused. “Someone on a throne that doesn’t want to have the first and last word? How peculiar.”</p><p>“Well, I am indeed breaking some norms. Tell me, how do you want to be addressed?”</p><p>“Gherlen. They.” There was no sign of emotion on their face.</p><p>“Okay. What are they accused of?”</p><p>Dinslaken cleared his throat again and began speaking. “This dwarf has stolen coins and a gold signet ring from a sealed coffer belonging official Warden Ambassadors to the Aeducan Throne three weeks ago. The dwarf was caught trying to sell the signet ring to a soldier of King Bhelen disguising as a Carta member. King Bhelen has forwarded the crime to your jurisdiction, Your Highness, as it concerns your troops.”</p><p>“King Bhelen also fully congratulates you on your ascension to the Ferelden Throne and wishes a prosperous and peaceful alliance between the Crowns. There is no doubt this case is his official acclamation of you as monarch, the first monarch in Thedas to do so,” Josephine added.</p><p>Imerati tilted her head again. “So, theft. I mean, I can assume your reasons, but do you want to explain your actions yourself?”</p><p>Gherlen shrugged. “I was hungry.”</p><p>Dinslaken intervened. “You can’t eat an official signet ring! This dwarf almost allowed forgeries to happen!”</p><p>Gherlen shrugged, again. “Easier to carry a ring than thirty loafs of bread.”</p><p>Imerati nodded. “Yeah, makes sense. I sentence you to nothing and acquit your case. Would somebody unlock their chains, please?”</p><p>Dinslaken gasped audibly. “Your Majesty, You can’t just let this slide! Many will look to this trial and see it as an excuse to get away with theft! This is akin to legalizing theft!”</p><p>“Wait. Is petty theft illegal?”</p><p>Dinslaken shook his head. “This isn’t petty theft. This dwarf stole an official item of state.”</p><p>Imerati leaned to Josephine. “Josie, can I legalize all theft on former crown territories?”</p><p>Josephine looked at her, pondering. “Mhhh… Theoretically, yes…”</p><p>“Great. I hereby legalize all theft as long as the thief can prove that they needed the stolen items and the person they stole from is considered rich.”</p><p>The dwarf laughed while Dinslaken went white with shock. “Your Majesty!”</p><p>“I hate to throw this around but I’ve been officially crowned queen by an official landsmeet and this is my decision. Next case, please.”</p><p>“May I still say something?” Gherlen asked.</p><p>“Go ahead.”</p><p>“You seem to be different. I’ve seen a lot of rogues in this camp, and I’d think you don’t mind our presence.”</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>“So, I am always looking for work. I can infiltrate, I can steal, I can pick locks. I am good at what I do.”</p><p>“Of course. I’ll hire you for any fee you seem appropriate. Please report to the Third Recon Division after you’ve stretched your legs a bit. They are mostly assassins, but I don’t think they’ll mind a thief.”</p><p>“Nice. Thanks.”</p><p>“No problem. Now, Dinslaken, will you unlock the lock on their chains on their…”</p><p>Gherlen opened the lock and dropped the chains on the ground and grinned. “Already did. I just wanted to see the queen everybody keeps talking about. Thought I’d keep them on, as a courtesy,” they said while strolling out of the tent.</p><p> </p><p>Dinslaken seemed positively flabbergasted. “Uh…” He cleared his throat once again. “Calling the second case of the day: An elf, smuggling, violating a royal monopoly and resisting arrest.”</p><p>An elf walked into the tent, flanked by two guards.</p><p>“All right, first, I order you to unlock those chains, this is ridiculous.” She stared down Dinslaken until he complied. “Second of all: Who are you and how do you like to be addressed?”</p><p>The elf mustered Imerati. “My name is Enasa Tabris and I don’t have any pronouns. If you must, use her. I was at the coronation. Tell me, if the alienage is truly free, why am I standing here?”</p><p>Enasa had wild brown-reddish hair, a narrow and long face, large green eyes, white skin, and freckles all over the face.</p><p>“True. What is Enasa accused of?”</p><p>“By the decree of King Loghain, the only ones allowed to trade food with the alienage are members of the Trader’s Guild of Gwaren. On the night of the twenty-ninth of Solace, this elf led a smuggling operation into the alienage, being caught with two crates of lentils and one of bread. The accomplices are all still at large due to this elf attacking the City Guards who caught them. Two of those guards were injured severely and have taken several months of absence to heal their wounds. We found her seven days ago in the alienage itself.”</p><p>“Wait. The twenty-ninth? During the occupation by the templars?”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“Why is Enasa here? I have abolished all exceptions in the law that oppressed elves. This is very obviously one of them.”</p><p>“It happened before the Landsmeet and therefore before your proclamation, Your Majesty.” As if she didn’t know that. “I urge Your Majesty to show that the law still matters and that crimes will not go unpunished.”</p><p>“Okay. I hereby accuse all members of the Trader’s Guild in Gwaren of crimes against all souls. They are hereby wanted criminals. Can you issue an order to be sent to all city guards, Josie?”</p><p>Josephine nodded. “Of course, your Highness. I will do so after the trials are concluded for today.”</p><p>“Great. I can also give medallions of service to civilians, yes?”</p><p>“Yes. That is no problem, as long as exceptional heroism can be found in the individual’s actions.”</p><p>“Wonderful. Enasa, I hereby award you the Fereldan medallion of service. You have shown exceptional heroism in supplying the alienage despite hostile circumstances and whatever the official proceedings here are. Anyhow, you are now free to go. I hope you accept my apology, had I known of this situation, I would have freed you sooner.”</p><p>Dinslaken went from pale white to flustered red. “This isn’t right!”</p><p>“Indeed, so I set it right.”</p><p>“This elf broke royal orders!”</p><p>“I can hand the throne to Enasa so that you can take orders from Enasa, if you’d rather have that.”</p><p>He glared at her, showing hatred at the idea itself, but knowing full well not to test Imerati's determination.</p><p>Imerati smiled. “I didn’t think so.”</p><p>Enasa looked to her. “Thanks. It’s nice knowing one person high up is on our side, for once.”</p><p>“I wish I weren’t this high up.”</p><p>“Would you mind if I used some of your ravens to inform my friends that we can return to the alienage?”</p><p>“Please. Go ahead. Or rather, go to the tactical command tent and search for a man named the Dark Wolf. If any communication network is fast and reliable, it is his.”</p><p>Enasa’s eyes radiated amazement and thankfulness. “I’ll go, then.”</p><p>“May the Creators watch over you.”</p><p>“And the Maker over you.”</p><p> </p><p>Imerati looked to Dinslaken as Enasa had exited the tent. “Next?”</p><p>He shook his head. “Fine. Calling the third case of the day: A human, apostacy and failing duty towards the crown.”</p><p>The soldiers dragged in a human whose hands were completely enclosed in iron cuffs and whose legs were also chained together.</p><p>Imerati stared furiously and without words at Dinslaken. “Your Majesty, this is a powerful apostate! This is for your protection!”</p><p>“<em>Open. Those. Locks.</em> Or I’ll have you thrown in a dungeon for the protection of all souls.”</p><p>He sighed heavily and complied. Once unbound, the human collapsed on the floor, crying. “Your… Your Highness… I am so sorry…”</p><p>Imerati kneeled down, trying to assess whether or not the person would feel better holding eye contact when she spoke. “It is all fine. It is all fine. You are safe with me.”</p><p>The human looked to her with eyes of despair. “I am so sorry…”</p><p>“Do you want to stand up? Sit down?”</p><p>The person crawled towards the throne a cowered together at the base, arms wrapped around the legs, head down and crying.</p><p>“You are safe now. How shall I address you?” Imerati sat down next to the person.</p><p>“I’m Ahn, please, Your Majesty, I am not an apostate, I am just a woman who…” Ahn broke into tears again.</p><p>Her hair was an unnaturally vibrant lime green, showing some beginning blonde at the hairline and at the sides of the undercut. Her skin was a pale white, probably suffering from poor circulation due to shock and trauma. Her eyebrows were precise and geometric, while some hairs seemed to be growing back around them. Her eyes were a dark green. She had the stature of a soldier.</p><p>“Your Majesty, this apostate…”</p><p>“Shut your mouth or I’ll freeze it.” She sent a deadly glance to Dinslaken before turning to Ahn again. “Ahn, it is perfectly fine to be gifted in magic. I am a mage myself. Magic is wonderful. You have no reason to apologize.” “Josie, can I have your notes on this trial for a second?”</p><p>Josephine untucked a paper from her clipboard and handed it to Imerati. Damn, that was some elegant handwriting. She read through the summary. Ahn had been with the queen’s guard that had tried to rescue Anora from the templars. She had been the one to cast what Imerati assumed, based on the eyewitness account, to be a force cage around herself and some other guards when the tower had exploded. They had survived because of her, yet the city guard had arrested her and put her into solitary confinement for apostacy and failing the crown afterwards. The “date of birth” line read “Second of Kingsway 9:11 dragon”. She was still nineteen. This had been done to a nineteen-year old. They had deprived a nineteen-year old of all human communication after she had first shown signs of magic.</p><p>“Josie?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“Put on my calendar to arrest every single city guard of Denerim once we arrive back from the battle.”</p><p>Josephine raised an eyebrow, then nodded. “Understandable.”</p><p>Imerati turned to Ahn again. “Ahn, can you hear me?”</p><p>“Y… yes...”</p><p>“My name is Imerati. We currently write the nineteenth of August, it is late morning, the sun will reach its zenith in approximately two hours. You are in a tent. We are currently resting for a day close to West Hill, to meet with some other groups. We are currently one hour on horseback away from the shore, outside, you might see seagulls and taste salt in the air. I am here, currently, with you, and I will protect you.” She spoke each sentence calmly and softly, not knowing how else she could help Ahn.</p><p>She motioned a Warden soldier to come closer. “Sent word that the General of the Army of the Mage Rebellion shall come to me at earliest convenience.” The soldier saluted.</p><p>Ahn turned towards Imerati, her entire body shaking. “I am not a bad person, I swear.”</p><p>“No. You aren’t a bad person. You are an amazing person. I know there a thoughts running through your head right now. Listen to my voice: You did not do anything wrong. You are safe now. I’ll never allow harm like this to come to you again. You are safe now and you are an amazing person. I guarantee you that.”</p><p>“Whatever makes you feel safer right now, you can do it. I guarantee you that everything is okay right now,” Imerati added after a few seconds.</p><p>“I think… I think I need some fresh air and some water.”</p><p>“Okay. Let’s find a freshwater container.” She looked into the room. “Session dismissed until further notice.”</p><p>Imerati stood up and helped Ahn on her feet. The woman was shaking but managed to walk. Outside, Ahn seemed quite disoriented and her breath seemed unstable.</p><p>“Ahn, can you do something for me?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“On my signal, breathe.</p><p>Breathe in,</p><p>hold,</p><p>and breathe out.</p><p>Breathe in,</p><p>hold,</p><p>and breathe out.</p><p>Breathe in,</p><p>hold,</p><p>and breathe out.”</p><p>Imerati waited a few seconds. Ahn seemed to stabilize and closed her eyes.</p><p>“I’m a mage, aren’t I?”</p><p>“You have proven that you have a connection to the fade. If you don’t feel like it, you don’t have to ever explore it. Living as a mage is a choice no one can make for you.”</p><p>“The Chantry always told me mages are sinners.”</p><p>“The grand cleric of Ferelden is here in this camp. I can send word to her, if you want. She can tell you in more detail than I can why the Maker has created magic and loves all mages. I’m afraid I don’t know a lot of the chant, myself.”</p><p>“You don’t seem to hate me.”</p><p>“No, I don’t and I don’t think I ever will.”</p><p>Ahn sighed deeply. “Have I failed my duty to the Queen?”</p><p>“You have saved some of her soldiers, actually.”</p><p>“She is dead, isn’t she?”</p><p>“The templars killed her, yes. The culprits have already been dealt with.”</p><p>“Who sits on the throne now?”</p><p>“Well, me. I am the queen now. I have been declared queen two weeks ago. However, I don’t sit on the throne now. I stand here, currently, as you can quite clearly see.”</p><p>Ahn laughed. Good. That was a good sign. “What will happen to me now?”</p><p>“Whatever you want to do.”</p><p>“I… worked so hard to become part of the Crown Guard. I was so proud when I was accepted. I am the youngest Crown Guard this century.” She laughed desperately. “And now I’m a mage.”</p><p>“One does not exclude the other as of now. I’ve decriminalized magic a couple of days ago.”</p><p>“You can just… do that?”</p><p>“I did. If it lasts, that is still to be determined.”</p><p>Ahn went silent, thinking. A familiar sight appeared in Imerati’s peripheral vision.</p><p>“Imerati, did you miss me already?” Sapphia and Imerati exchanged a short kiss. Sapphia was wearing a modified Warden uniform in Gold and Violet. How could this woman be such a flirt and such a thespian at the same time? Imerati needed all her strength to not stare into Sapphia’s golden eyes forever.</p><p>“Actually, there is a new member of our community that will need a very gentle hand to make her deal with some recent and bad memories.”</p><p>Sapphia turned towards Ahn, smiling. “Hello. My name is Sapphia. I am here to help you however I can.”</p><p>“Hi. Can I… be a mage and still remain a Crown Guard?”</p><p>“Yes. Certainly. I can train you in whatever you like.”</p><p>Ahn nodded and began talking with Sapphia. Sapphia seemed to be very understanding and perfectly apt to handle the situation.</p><p>As Imerati turned to walk away again, Ahn reached for her hand. “Thank you… Your Highness…”</p><p>“I’ll be here whenever you need me, Ahn. And if you want, you can call me Imerati.”</p><p>“Thank you, Imerati. Thank you.”</p><p>“Always.”</p><p> </p><p>After a few minutes of trying to sort her thoughts, Imerati went back into the tent, where Josephine was going through some pages while Dinslaken was clearly hiding ennui and rage.</p><p>“Your Majesty, You still need to pass judgement on the apostate.”</p><p>“Acquitted. Next.”</p><p>He hesitated. How peculiar. “Your Majesty, I will describe the next crime before calling the accused. This is unusual, however, everything thus far has been unusual, so I hope my breach of protocol is acceptable.”</p><p>“Well, sure. Go ahead.”</p><p>“The next case concerns grand theft of the crown and treason.”</p><p>“Wait. Like. There is a physical crown? I thought we just talked of the crown as a synonym, to, you know, the office of monarch.”</p><p>“It is very rarely used nowadays, but it still stands valid as a royal symbol. The thief snook into the Royal Treasury and stole, of all things, the physical crown. A guard spotted her but was unable to apprehend her. We only caught her a couple of days ago. She refuses to say where the crown is.”</p><p>“I opened the royal treasury to all elves. If any other soul takes a piece from it, I wouldn’t count it as tragic.”</p><p>“Your Majesty, the thief could have declared herself Queen with that Crown! That is treason!”</p><p>“Why are we discussing this beforehand? What is it this time? Did she try to finance an orphanage? Did she brew antitoxins under time constraints and needed pure gold to save her friends from dying?”</p><p>“Your Majesty, I urge you to show some respect for the Royal Regalia!”</p><p>“Well, guess what: I order you not to. There. No need to worry any longer.”</p><p>He sighed. “Let’s just get this over with. Calling the last case of the day: An elf, grand theft and treason.”</p><p> </p><p>Imerati had been prepared for another upstanding and poor individual wronged by the laws of the kingdom. Yet when a child was guided into the tent, cursing and kicking, she made a choice. With a swift tap on her staff, she froze Dinslaken’s mouth shut, went over to him, and grabbed the keyring. To the remaining soldier at the entrance, she said: “This man is guilty of treason against all souls. Throw him into a cell and see that you lose the key.” The soldier saluted and dragged the mumbling Dinslaken away.</p><p>Imerati unlocked the child’s chains and motioned the guards to go. The child took a step back and looked at her with narrow eyes.</p><p>“Who the fuck are you?”</p><p>“My name is Imerati. I am so sorry for what happened to you. I’ll make sure it won’t happen again.”</p><p>The child pointed towards Imerati’s head. “Your ears look funny.”</p><p>Imerati laughed. “Most people say that about my lips.”</p><p>“No. That’s a good color. I like it. Like the flowers.”</p><p>“Violets?”</p><p>“Yes. Those things.”</p><p>“What is your name, you who likes violets?”</p><p>“I’m Sera. Your ears are funny. But you are not a pissbag like the others.”</p><p>“I do try my best not to be a pissbag. Can you tell me how old you are, Sera?”</p><p>Sera shook her head. “No.”</p><p>Imerati looked to Josephine. “Anything in your notes?”</p><p>Josephine shook her head. “Just ‘Young, age not known, family unknown.’ Didn’t assume he’d mean a child by that.”</p><p>“Are you hungry, Sera? Do you need water?”</p><p>“Yes. Both. Both of that.”</p><p>“Care to go for a short hike?”</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“We need to walk to a tent where there is food.”</p><p>“Oh. Yeah.”</p><p>Imerati exited the tent and Sera followed her.</p><p>“So, lady, what’s your deal?”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“Your clothes. They look really weird. Why is that?”</p><p>“Some people want me to wear these clothes.”</p><p>“So you’re just weak?”</p><p>Imerati laughed. That was honesty she could never get from officials. “Well, no. Not entirely. They are comfy and I like the color.”</p><p>“Gold?”</p><p>“Yes, and violet.”</p><p>“Why do people like gold so much? It’s weird.”</p><p>“Yes. Quite weird. Some people associate it with power and status.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“They think they can beat up other people because they have gold.”</p><p>“Arrow!”</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“I can shoot arrows! Quite well! Into their face.”</p><p>“That’s one way of teaching such people a lesson.”</p><p>“Why are you here?”</p><p>A very telling question, yet so few ever ask it. “There a lot of people who need to stop beating up others or get an arrow to the face.”</p><p>They arrived in the mess hall. Sapphia waved to them from a bench in the back. Imerati went to her and sat down next to her. Sera went to the other side of the table, sat down and put up her shoes on the table.</p><p>“Where is Ahn?”</p><p>“She got entranced by Meravas setting weapons on fire so I left her with the core of the Army.” Sapphia looked to Sera. “Are you a mother now, Imerati? That was fast. Who is the other parent?”</p><p>Imerati laughed and kissed Sapphia. “Depends on Leliana’s reaction at this point.”</p><p>Sera’s eyes were wide. “You can… kiss women?”</p><p>“Yes, Sera.”</p><p>“Can I kiss women when I grow up?”</p><p>“If they want, you can kiss all the women you like when you grow up.”</p><p>Sera switched back and forth between staring at Imerati and Sapphia. “Are you two in love?”</p><p>Imerati blushed and looked down. Sapphia smiled coyly at Imerati. Sapphia was the first to speak. “We are definitely crushing on each other. We will see if we fall in love.”</p><p>“Crush? Like…” Sera pressed her hand into a fist. “Crush?”</p><p>Imerati and Sapphia laughed. “Well, the word can also mean if you really want to kiss somebody, for example. Why it is called crush like the destruction is a good question.”</p><p>“Words are weird.”</p><p>“True.”</p><p>Sera took a cheese wedge from Sapphia’s plate and began chow down on it.</p><p>“One thing, Sera,” Imerati began.</p><p>“Waf?” she said with a full mouth, spitting over the table.</p><p>“What happened to the crown?”</p><p>“Crown?”</p><p>Sapphia conjured up a small glowing circle onto the table into which she projected the image of a crown. “Something like this? Gold?”</p><p>“Pretty lights!” Sera looked at it for half a minute before continuing. “Oh. That thing. Pissbags were running after me. Wanted the thing. I threw the thing into the harbor.”</p><p>Sapphia laughed wholeheartedly. Imerati loved that sound. “She destroyed Regalia! Out of spite! Imerati, she is oh so definitely your daughter!”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 30th day of August, eleven hours past midnight</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“I have known you for only some days now, yet you have hummed that melody multiple times. I am curious as to what significance it holds for you.” Briala looked at Neimena in anticipation. She was genuinely curious to hear the answer. The General had been very accepting and open to questions so far, and Briala was working on her tendency to leave question she had unsaid.</p><p>Neimena smiled at her, taking a step backward from the training dummy and sheathing her sword. “It’s the Tanlath, a story of our people.”</p><p>Briala noticed two things. First of all, Neimena spoke of their people as a collective that included Briala. She had indeed not noticed any way in which the General distinguished between city-born and Dalish elves. It felt unreal. There were a lot of open discussions about the future of the Dales in Neimena's Dalish circle of family members, friends and allies, and none were exclusionary towards city elves. At the Imperial Court, Briala had dreamt in secret and silence about what was simple consensus here. Secondly, Neimena liked to lead people to conclusions by giving them enough information to reach them themselves. At first, she thought it was a mere predilection for subtle tests of knowledge, but she had grasped quickly that Neimena truly wished for people to think freely and experience the thought process themselves. This time, it was the elven word that Briala tried to wrap her head around. “Three loves?”</p><p>“That is one way to translate it, a very direct but still fitting one.”</p><p>Briala pondered a moment. Wasn’t bell’lath the word for polyamory and polyamorous relationships? “Then a less literal translation might be ‘triad’? As compared to the numerically ambiguous bell’lath?”</p><p>Neimena smiled. “Yes, exactly. It is about a triad at the times of the Dales.”</p><p>“Was polyamory common in the Dales?”</p><p>“Any kind of respectful and consensual interaction was common and welcome in the Dales.” Briala nodded. Where queerness was seen as strange and exotic and quirky in Orlais, she had heard tales of love between women in the Dales that were completely accepted by their communities.</p><p>“What makes the tale so significant to you?”</p><p>“I could simply explain it, or I could sing it to you line by line and you could sharpen your understanding of our ancestral language by translating it yourself. Your choice.”</p><p>Neimena had already doubled Briala’s knowledge of Elvish in the time she had been here. It was incredibly fascinating to be allowed to share their common culture, despite the fragmentation after the fall of the Dales. “Well, the latter is just too tempting, is it. But I wouldn’t wish to impose my curiosity onto your potentially bursting timeframe.”</p><p>“It is allright, lethallan. I have some free time and the more can partake in our culture, the better.” She sat down cross-legged next to Briala. “Are you ready?”</p><p>“I will try not to disappoint you with my only superficial understanding of our language.”</p><p>"Do not worry. You will get most of it, I promise you."</p><p>As Neimena began to sing, Briala felt like the melody of the words itself carried the meaning of the text. She had much less problems translating it than expected.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>In the forest of the people</em></p><p>
  <em>you may always find the ones</em>
</p><p>
  <em>who onward carry understanding</em>
</p><p>
  <em>of when to raise or lower the bow.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And among the carriers of knowledge</em>
</p><p><em>there was the one they addressed</em>… Sulevolas?”</p><p> </p><p>“It is the name of the huntress. You can translate it by finding the words it is connected from, but it may just stand as a name. By the inflection in the middle, you can hear that it is intended as a name.”</p><p> </p><p>“All right.</p><p>…<em>there was the one they addressed Sulevolas.</em></p><p>
  <em>who was taught by the ones before her</em>
</p><p>
  <em>to always strike the target she sought.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And all the people heard of her skill</em>
</p><p>
  <em>for when she had decided on a target</em>
</p><p>
  <em>the arrow always forced its way</em>
</p><p>
  <em>the justice of her heart her goal.</em>
</p><p><em>And one day the</em>…many voices… no, that can’t be right…”</p><p> </p><p>“It is, in a way. The Bellrenan were individuals among the Dalish society that were excellent listeners and speakers that could pick up the voices of many communities and offer a common voice. They suggested laws and practices. Many humans interpreted them as monarchs, yet they weren’t rulers, they were guides and respected elders among our people. They held not the power of a monarch but the conviction of a friend of many. They wore a tiara, though, something many humans interpreted as the crown of the Dales.”</p><p>“I have heard about the federal principle of the organization of the Dalish Kingdom, but I wasn’t aware it’s monarchy was a mistranslation.”</p><p>“A monarch would not see eye to eye with a commoner, would they?”</p><p>“Most wouldn’t, yes.”</p><p>“Shall I continue?”</p><p>“Yes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>And one day the Bellrenan approached her</em>
</p><p>
  <em>carrying request of a village in the west</em>
</p><p>
  <em>saying her aid was vitally needed</em>
</p><p>
  <em>to fend of disturbances unknown.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She swiftly went to the village center</em>
</p><p>
  <em>when a woman crossed her path</em>
</p><p>
  <em>another huntress to join the fight</em>
</p><p>
  <em>who carried as her name the word Shemirthara.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This huntress carried blade and shield</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and she always moved onwards on a path</em>
</p><p>
  <em>but where Sulevolas broke through an obstacle</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Shemirthara found a new way around.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And Shemirthara was accompanied by a wolf</em>
</p><p>
  <em>staying at her side whereever she went</em>
</p><p>
  <em>he guarded her with fervor</em>
</p><p>
  <em>so everyone called him Melanadeth.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And as demonic beings appeared week after week</em>
</p><p>
  <em>the huntresses fought side by side</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and they began moving as one body</em>
</p><p>
  <em>thinking as one soul.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And in the arms of the other</em>
</p><p>
  <em>each one slowly found her home</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and the warmth of their love carried them</em>
</p><p>
  <em>understanding clearer and striking truer.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But when no fighting seemed to help</em>
</p><p>
  <em>the halla of the Bellrenan appeared again</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and the halla's name was Shiralshem</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and the woman on her back is remembered as Theneratish.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>This Bellrenan was a healer and a mage</em>
</p><p>
  <em>always a dream freedom on her mind</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and she just couldn’t leave her people in danger</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and so at their side she joined the fight.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yet many arrows and strikes and spells later</em>
</p><p>
  <em>the fighting besides them still raged on</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and when their souls grew as tired as their arms</em>
</p><p>
  <em>they wondered why they still went on.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And then, one day, they crossed a village in need of aid</em>
</p><p>
  <em>whose people needed clothes, food and medicine</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and the three women looked around and listened</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and slowly, they began to learn.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For the leather quiver could carry water</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and the bowstring could be used to create fire</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and the sword could cut through cloth and yarn</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and the staff could not only harm, but also heal.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And they began to understand those weeks</em>
</p><p>
  <em>when their help was well received</em>
</p><p>
  <em>that it didn’t matter what they fought against</em>
</p><p>
  <em>when they remembered what they fight for.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And bell'lath grew root among them</em>
</p><p>
  <em>their love known far and wide</em>
</p><p>
  <em>for them each touch and kiss a sign</em>
</p><p>
  <em>of the sun and moon blessing the world.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And in places the Blight grew nearer</em>
</p><p>
  <em>on the halla the three appeared</em>
</p><p>
  <em>they build and listened and healed and fought</em>
</p><p>
  <em>until there was peace at last.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But the three then began to wonder</em>
</p><p>
  <em>how long that peace might last</em>
</p><p>
  <em>so after their adventures concluded</em>
</p><p>
  <em>the first of the Emerald Knights they taught.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And somewhere in the forest</em>
</p><p>
  <em>you may find three trees growing with one root</em>
</p><p>
  <em>and as the branches grow and reach for the sky</em>
</p><p>
  <em>of the tanlath we still sing.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Briala paused a moment after finishing the translation. “It is very beautiful and a good lesson. I can see how it impacted you.”</p><p>Neimena nodded. “Our clan has conserved many stories of the Emerald Knights, many passed down in the spoken word, some written on paper and statuettes, some in books. There are five books about the strategy of the Emerald Knights that have no author attribution. I’d like to think they are the works of Theneratish.” She laughed</p><p>Neimena continued. “I heard the Tanlath first as a child and was mesmerized by it. It felt and feels like another voice speaking what is in my heart. My fathers and siblings all were very supportive of me learning the way of an Emerald Knight and being a lesbian.”</p><p>Neimena noticed the sadness in Briala’s eyes directly. “Ara seranna-ma. I should have inquired how you stand on the subject of family before making this remark.”</p><p>Briala smiled wearily and looked down, her thoughts drifting away from the conversation. “No reason to apologize, I was the one asking. I just would like… to ask if I could borrow the Dark Wolf’s network for some time to learn who was Mantillon’s accomplice. I always wondered in the back of my head if she alone was responsible, but never had the resources to look into it.”</p><p>“Always, ma lethallan.”</p><p>Briala chuckled a bit to get out the pain, trying to get her mind away from the memories. “May I ask who your first girlfriend was?”</p><p>“A very sweet and talented mage from Clan Sabrae. Her name is Merrill. We saw each other a couple of times, but our Clans never were that close. I pondered joining hers for a long time.”</p><p>“What stopped you?”</p><p>“We simply fell out of love. It can happen.”</p><p>“Indeed. And your current girlfriend is a talented mage as well. I see a pattern there.”</p><p>Neimena laughed. “I can give you a tip or two regarding flirts with mages, if you want some,” she teased.</p><p>Briala raised an eyebrow. “I… it’s complicated with Celene.”</p><p>“Ara seranna-ma. I will not push you further into the topic, just know that I will always listen.”</p><p>Briala definitely wanted to switch the topic. “Would you want to become Bellrenan, Neimena? If we beat Orlais thoroughly?”</p><p>“We will beat Orlais thoroughly, rest assured. My plan accounts for a lot of possibilities.”</p><p>“Sorry. I didn’t mean to question your abilities. But would you want the non-royal tiara?”</p><p>“I am an Emerald Knight at heart, Briala. I wouldn’t count myself among the potential candidates because my place is another. The first Bellrenan in centuries would have to be an observant listener, willing negotiator and navigate the political landscape of humans as a second nature. I could command the Dalish armies. I could not speak for them.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 30th day of August, half past noon</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Imerati was lost in some paperwork when she bumped against someone. That was bound to happen. She hadn’t even noticed that she had started walking up and down the tent entrance, it was such a natural reaction to her being lost in angry thoughts. “Pardon…” She looked up and once again was at a loss of words.</p><p>Briala smiled at her. “You seem lost and stuck in a search for solutions, Imerati. That’s a peculiarly understandable reason to lose sight of your surroundings.”</p><p>“I’ve had easier mornings, that is true. So much of the kingdom is inhumane and rotten, Briala. Even now, as queen, it is difficult to intervene in the problems all these souls face because there are so many of them.”</p><p>“Most would consider your few days of regency so far more successful than some dynasties.”</p><p>“Do you consider me to be like the members of most dynasties?”</p><p>“Certainly not.” Briala smiled a bit wider than usual. “You need a break, Imerati.”</p><p>“What would you suggest and how many pacts with demons would that require?” Imerati sighed.</p><p>Briala laughed and Imerati’s entire body tingled as a response. Sometimes she wondered what blessing allowed her to be on a world with so many amazing women. “Even a Queen can take a couple of hours of a lunch break at noon. If we take a fast horse, we could eat dinner at the beach together and be back before four.”</p><p>“You are amazing, have I ever told you that?” Imerati asked in exhaustion, just to realize the next moment that she said that out aloud.</p><p>Briala blushed and looked down. “Meet me at the eastern stable in ten minutes, I’ll fetch us something to eat.”</p><p> </p><p>Imerati immediately went to the eastern stable after putting on a dress that felt much more casual than the uniform. It was a heavy, yet high quality linen dress in plain white, though the waistline was accentuated in gold. The sleeves went up to her elbows and the dress itself a bit past her knees. To be able to ride a horse, she had made the choice to go for some soft grey silk pants underneath, but she would be able to take them off at the beach. It wasn’t technically hers, she had had to think fast and had taken something out of Leliana’s closet. Normally, that wouldn’t be that much of a problem, since they were roughly of equal stature, but Imerati usually refrained from wearing anything with a pronounced neckline, and especially something that would normally be tightly fit around Leliana’s breasts. She had no more time to remedy her mistake now. She had made a choice and would have to live with it.</p><p>She turned towards the Warden responsible for caretaking the horses. “Horsemaster, I’ll need two horses for the next few hours.”</p><p>He mustered her for a few seconds, perplexed, before answering. “Oh, Commander! Didn’t notice you in that outfit.” He scratched the back of his head. “Am afraid that the General send all available units on patrol. Am out of horses for the next hour.” He made a grimace, thinking hard. “You’re an elf, right?”</p><p>“Evidently.”</p><p>“One of the General’s elves is tending to some halla right over there.” He pointed to a hill a hundred steps or so away. “Might find a steed there.”</p><p> </p><p>The caretaker for the halla was Neimena’s brother Elgaras. The good news was that some halla were tame enough already to carry someone who had never been on a halla before. The bad news was that there was only one such halla left, which immediately had taken a liking in Briala. She petted its beautiful forehead while Elgaras spoke.</p><p>“She does seem to like you. Irassal isn’t the most open to strangers, so take her trust as an extraordinary gift.”</p><p>“I will cherish and respect it. Just, how will we get to the beach without a second steed?”</p><p>“Irassal can carry two souls with ease.”</p><p>Briala looked to Imerati. “I’m so sorry, would there be a problem for you if I rode the halla and you sat down behind me?”</p><p>Gay panic attacks do pose an obstacle not easily dismissed. “I can think of worse problems.” She grinned sheepishly for a second before regaining some control over her facial expression.</p><p>Elgaras helped Briala onto the halla and explained to her how to interact with her. In less than ten minutes, she had figured out how to tell Irassal where she wanted to go. After helping Imerati up as well, Elgaras looked at her and said: “Mythal enasal, lethallan.”</p><p>“Wouldn’t I need Ghilan’nain’s blessing more right now?” she wondered under her breath.</p><p>He giggled. “The Mother of Halla already watches over one of you. It would appear both of you could use some advice by Mythal.”</p><p>Imerati blushed as she understood. “Uhm… thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>They followed a cobbled street for ten minutes before they stopped.</p><p>“Sorry. I must have lost track of the directions. Would you mind taking out the compass from my bag? It should be in the front pocket.”</p><p>Briala was indeed carrying a shoulder bag with her. After a short search, Imerati found the compass and tried to hand it to Briala.</p><p>“I’ll need my hands to guide her. Could you just show the compass to me?”</p><p>“Uh… I’d have to get pretty close to you to reach around you with my hand…” Imerati got flustered.</p><p>“I didn’t expect you to keep that much distance in the first place. How did you manage to hold on to her for the last couple of minutes, anyhow?”</p><p>Barely. “Are you sure… it’s not a problem for you?”</p><p>Briala turned to her, raised an eyebrow and grinned. “I can think of worse problems.”</p><p>Imerati moved closer, yet hesitated. “Are you sure this isn’t uncomfortable for you? Like, we’d basically be hugging.”</p><p>“A lot of things make me uncomfortable, Imerati, but you are not one of them. I’d tell you if anything made me uncomfortable, I promise.”</p><p>Imerati moved so close that her legs and back touched Briala and carefully wrapped her left arm around Briala’s waist and reached around with her right arm to show the compass. Her face was so close to Briala’s that she could hear Briala breathe.</p><p>Briala turned towards her and made eye contact. “See, I don’t feel uncomfortable with this.”</p><p>Imerati’s entire face went red. Why had she chosen not to wear foundation today? “Yes…”</p><p>Briala smiled softly and turned around. Imerati lost all sense of time and space. There was only Briala’s warmth and the wind around them. Briala had applied some kind of perfume to herself and smelled faintly like lavender. Imerati neither was capable of nor willing to hide how happy she felt in this moment. And, for the first time in her conscious mind, formed the realization in clear letters that she loved Briala.</p><p>“We are here,” Briala whispered softly. Imerati had noticed the sand and the dunes but hadn’t been willing to accept it until now. Startled, she left Briala’s embrace.</p><p>“I am so sorry.”</p><p>“You have nothing to apologize for.”</p><p>Imerati quickly and awkwardly jumped down onto the sand. Irassal turned her head around and looked at Imerati. Great. Now a halla was judging her for her inability to exist around beautiful women. Could everybody just start noticing her soft and anxious and cuddle-starved side and not make a big deal about it?</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“I’m g…ood, it’s allright.” Imerati began getting out of the trousers she had worn for the ride.</p><p>Briala descended from the halla’s back, gracefully and carefully. She stroked the creature’s head and took out an apple from her bag which the halla promptly accepted with a loud neigh. Briala turned around and walked towards Imerati as Irassal trotted away.</p><p>Imerati raised an eyebrow. “Will she be back?”</p><p>“Should she want it. At least, that’s what I assume.”</p><p>“’What you assume’?”</p><p>Briala took out her pocket-watch and glanced at it. “I’ve been riding halla for a bit more than an hour, Imerati. You can’t expect me to be an immediate expert.”</p><p>“I don’t expect anything, much less that you are a natural at anything you set out to do.”</p><p>Briala looked at the sandy ground. “I am a bard. Being immediately proficient in anything and quick to adapt to new situations is a matter of life and death.”</p><p>“A tall order to request from oneself.” Briala didn’t react and Imerati cursed herself for saying a wrong thing. Creators. Why did she never manage to say the right thing?</p><p> </p><p>Briala began walking to a boulder in the sand and Imerati followed her. “Is everything okay, Briala?”</p><p>Briala looked up, suddenly, and smiled. A concealing smile. “Yes, everything is fine.” Fine is a positive word so weak it might as well be a negation. Briala sat down on the boulder and motioned Imerati to do the same. “I packed some sandwiches because despite all the details of your policies I know intimately, it would appear I still lack the simple information what you like to eat.”</p><p>Imerati chuckled. “Sandwiches will do just fine. I’m not picky.” She paused, looking for words. “Is that what you see me as? A player of the game who you need to know to gain an advantage?”</p><p>“I hope it didn’t come across this way. I actually want to know you better, at not as a player. With all due respect, Imerati, you are a bad at making compromises and worse at concealing your thoughts. You wouldn’t survive the game for an hour.”</p><p>Imerati nodded. “Fair.” She sighed. “Though I hate being such a bad liar. Sometimes, it would just be better to be able to get out of situations unscathed by just telling a convincing lie.”</p><p>“Do you know what exactly gives you that difficulty lying?”</p><p>Imerati scoffed. “When I arrived at the circle, there was a chantry sister who repeated every day that they could always tell if I was lying and that the punishment for lying or concealing the truth would be harsh. So, I always mess up telling lies nowadays because my fear of everybody knowing that I lie starts while I am telling it. I still hear her voice linger in my head.” She exhaled. “Funnily enough, the same chantry expected me to perform the lie of my supposed masculinity for almost two decades.”</p><p>“To ensure my survival, my family taught me to lie before they taught me how to tell the truth.” Briala frowned. “Everybody lies in the Royal Quarter. It’s as natural as breathing. As I told you before, in a world of lies, it can become difficult to spot the truth itself. That becomes more and more true the closer you are to the palace.” It took her a while to continue. “The masks are largely redundant where I come from. I have been trained to tell the better and less transparent lie to get to the true intentions my conversation partner is hiding before they get to mine. You were an enigma to me at first because your lie seemed perfectly constructed. It took me a while to understand it isn’t one. I am sorry for that and I am sorry that I find your honesty so refreshing.”</p><p>“You have nothing to apologize for. Let’s just conclude that our childhoods were shit in two very opposite directions and that if circumstances were just a bit more hostile, we might never have found a way to communicate this well.”</p><p>“Being on the topic of accidentally meeting each other in unusually positive circumstances, I have a question for you that you need not answer if it is not possible right now.”</p><p>“I won’t answer if I can’t, don’t worry.”</p><p>“How did someone who loathed the circle so much end up with a Grand Cleric as a girlfriend?”</p><p>“I almost didn’t. She carried a lot of misconceptions around at first and it was quite difficult to navigate that. Sure, I was interested in her, but she could be as obnoxious as any chantry sister I’d known in the circle. Several things she said were very hurtful.”</p><p>“How did you remedy that situation?” Briala stressed more syllables in that question than normal. Imerati wondered why.</p><p>“By talking to her. I understood quickly where she was coming from, how surviving as a bard meant using every advantage possible to survive through each day. She had clung to parts of the status quo as a matter of survival, because there was no other power assigned to her that she could have used to defend herself. Sure, it was shitty of her to treat others that way, but when I presented her with the reality of her actions and the choice to change, she took it instantly.”</p><p>“I see.” Briala breathed out loudly. Imerati wondered if she had given a wrong answer. “It is cute that you share a closet, anyhow.”</p><p>Imerati blushed anew. “Is it that obvious that the dress is hers?”</p><p>“I remember her wearing it during our travel to Denerim. That neckline has been chosen deliberately by her to show off.”</p><p>Imerati giggled. That indeed sounded like something Leliana would nonchalantly do. “Sadly, it doesn’t do the trick for me, as of now.”</p><p>Briala’s gaze wandered downwards to Imerati’s breasts. “If you allow me the comment: The result is very cute, regardless of what cup size the dress was designed for.”</p><p>Imerati face turned into a full red again and she looked to Briala. She was wearing black leather boots, pants Imerati assumed were made from silk in its natural white, and a deep blue silk blouse with silverite buttons. “I… well… thanks… you are cute… as well…” Was there a trick to smooth flirting? Was it blood magic? It must have been blood magic.</p><p>Briala smiled widely at Imerati and let her gaze return towards the sea. “It was Leliana who first brought up the idea of you becoming Queen, wasn’t it?”</p><p>“How do you know that?”</p><p>Briala shrugged. “It figures that you wouldn’t seek power yourself. It seems unlikely that you’d have chosen this situation alone. My best guess it that she asked you to trust her word in the necessity of this path.”</p><p>“Spot on, save for the fact that we discussed it at length and she didn’t ask me to trust her, she gave me convincing arguments and a chance to decide for myself.”</p><p>Briala seemed distant. “Mhhh. I talked with Neimena about the reconstruction of the Dalish Kingdom today. There seems to be no singular person directly apparent as Monarch now. Have you considered taking that position?”</p><p>“You said yourself that I am not good at making compromises. The Bellrenan is supposed to be the harmony between the communities. I tend to quickly chose sides in arguments. But I would argue that you are incorrect in one point. I could easily think of someone apt to become the first of the new Bellrenan.”</p><p>Briala tilted her head. “Who do you have in mind?”</p><p>Imerati was careful to make eye contact that Briala could easily break, if it made her uncomfortable. “You should become Queen of the Dales, if you want.”</p><p>Briala scoffed only to interrupt herself. “You are serious?”</p><p>“Yes, of course. I am bad at reading people, so excuse me if I get this wrong, but it would seem that you’ve been looking forward to an opportunity like this your entire political life. You are absolutely apt for it, anyhow.”</p><p>Briala looked down. “Everything I have achieved has been a struggle against others. I haven’t heard anyone wanting to see me in any position of influence without egocentric ambitions.”</p><p>“I am really sorry for that.”</p><p>Briala shook her head in disbelief. “You truly are not a player, Imerati Surana.”</p><p>“Have I said something wrong?”</p><p>“To the contrary. There are things I am slowly beginning to realize, and I have to thank you for it.”</p><p>“What, for example? I mean, if you want to talk about it.”</p><p>Briala leaned back and lay down on the stone, looking into the sky. Imerati followed her example. “What you consider love, what you have with Leliana, is something very sweet, very considerate, very soft, very equal, very caring.” Briala sighed and turned her head towards Imerati. “You can interrupt me if I don’t make any sense, you know. These thoughts are forming as I speak them out aloud.”</p><p>“Everything you say makes perfect sense to me,” Imerati whispered.</p><p>Briala smiled again, only to turn back to the sky and frown. “Celene has been so very different in the last few weeks, even before Queen Anora was killed. She has been increasingly absent. Usually, she cares in her own way. I had the opportunity to convince her of some positives for the elves of Orlais. Usually, she is sweet, in her own way. Nowadays, she screams and…” Briala paused, fighting against tears. “She has always been hard to convince but now, she doesn’t appear to listen to any word I say. She has become…,” she grasped for words, “she has become so volatile. Aggressive. It is as if…” She sighed and let out a short laugh in desperation. “Like her mask has slipped and she doesn’t even give me the courtesy of putting it back on because I am worth so little to her.” Her voice began to break. “It feels like all the love of a decade I gave her is met by her with a farce, a façade. It has never been like Leliana and you. We have never seen eye to eye. Our roles were always unequal. It was always her demanding and me giving… My time, my energy, my emotions, my self…” Briala went back to sitting upright. Imerati did the same.</p><p>Briala began to sob. Slowly at first, then more and more forcefully. “Would…,” she began, “would you mind if I…”</p><p>Imerati shook her head. “Do whatever you need.”</p><p>To Imerati’s great surprise, Briala wrapped her arms around Imerati and let her head fall on Imerati’s shoulder. They sat there for a long time, while Briala cried and clung tightly to Imerati, her entire body shaking under the pressure of years of bottled-up emotions. Imerati heard the voices of her past tell her how useless she was and how much worsened the situation for Briala and what a failure she was for not being prepared for this situation. She spent a lot of energy reminding herself that Briala had just opened herself up completely, maybe for the first time ever, to another soul and that she would have her reasons for that. Briala had made herself completely vulnerable around Imerati despite having lived in a world that would have killed her for that vulnerability almost all her life. Imerati knew that this amount of complete trust was an honor. A part of her questioned if she had been worthy of it.</p><p> </p><p>After an unknown amount of time had passed. Briala’s tears had become fewer and less intense. She slightly looked up to Imerati. “Am I… Am I wrong?”</p><p>“No, not at all. I am so proud of you for having come to this realization yourself. It must be incredibly difficult to untangle the webs of lies you have been born into. You can be proud of yourself for getting this far. And if you want, I can accompany you wherever this journey leads.”</p><p>Briala looked at her. Imerati couldn’t read the emotions in Briala’s face. “I’ve never had the opportunity to cry in someone’s presence in over a decade.”</p><p>“I promise you that we will do everything to ensure that no elf will ever have to go through the same situation again.”</p><p>The sea had sent a few waves to the shore that were louder than the rest. Briala’s gaze wandered to the glistening water. “I think I need to take my mind off things and go for a swim. Do you want to come along?”</p><p>“I would love to, but first of all, I don’t have anything to wear, and second of all, I have never learned to swim.”</p><p>It took Briala a second. “Because of the circle?”</p><p>“Yeah. Before I was a teenager, there were some opportunities to swim, but I always retreated to the archives and took over dusting duty with a human boy whose name I forgot who had a similar disgust for the exercises. Later, the templars scratched the exercises because Anders managed to swim away one day.” She stared into the waves. “I suppose I should give an explanation why, yet words elude me. It might be that I hated the thought of learning to survive in the water while men who wanted me dead were supposed to rescue me if things got wrong. Maybe because I grew to hate parts this body subconsciously and swimming gear always means revealing some of those parts. Maybe because I couldn’t enjoy or truly understand anything in the constant atmosphere of hatred and hostility.”</p><p>“I see.” Briala began unbuttoning her blouse to reveal that she was wearing a swimsuit underneath.</p><p>Imerati grinned. “Who was I to doubt that you were unprepared?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t suggest going to the beach without adequate preparation for the possibility of swimming,” Briala explained. “I could teach you how to swim, if you ever change your mind.”</p><p>“Though I have mastered some helpful elemental magic, learning to swim without consuming mana seems like a tempting thought. After we have beaten Gaspard, maybe?”</p><p>“I was actually picturing now.”</p><p>“I don’t have a swimsuit with me.”</p><p>Briala pulled out another swimsuit out of her bag. “I wouldn’t suggest going to the beach together without adequate preparation for the possibility of both of us swimming.”</p><p>The next two hours just happened as one instance. There was nothing but Briala’s voice and the water and floating around, mind and body. Imerati forgot Orlais, she forgot the circles, she forgot the strange situation she was in, she forgot the impossible odds of the upcoming battle, she forgot the injustice of the Fereldan courts. It was beyond doubt a beautiful moment, to see Briala just as free of concern as she was. Indeed, there was the unspoken ultimate awareness that this was but a moment, and that the problems of the world would return to them once again after it passed. But that didn’t make it less precious.</p><p> </p><p>They went back to the shore as Imerati felt a bit drained of energy. Briala fetched two towels out of her bag and gave one to Imerati and began wrapping her hair in the towel. Laying down on the towels in the sand next to each other, staring into the sky, they let the sun dry the rest of them them. This time, Imerati was the one reaching out for Briala’s hand.</p><p>“Imerati, do you allow me a very personal question about your relationship with Leliana?”</p><p>“Yes, of course. You can always ask me anything.”</p><p>“Your relationship is polyamorous and you are seeing other people, right?”</p><p>“Yes. I’m currently dating Sapphia, for example. You needn’t count that question as personal, though. It is natural to me and natural to talk about it.” There was an obvious next question that had to be asked. “Are you poly, Briala?”</p><p>“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ve never been with anyone but Celene and I’d like to sort out that… that situation before starting to date in earnest again.”</p><p>“Understandable.”</p><p>They stared silently into the sky for a while before Briala spoke again. “You would support me as Queen of the Dales, an institution destroyed on Chantry orders?”</p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p>“And Leliana as Divine of the Andrastian Chantry?”</p><p>“Absolutely.” She also would date both as such in a heartbeat, but that much she concealed.</p><p>“That is an unusual set of allegiances to entertain at once, isn’t it?”</p><p>“One would assume the first elven queen since the fall of Halamshiral to have to entertain unusual allegiances.”</p><p>Briala laughed very loudly. In this situation, Imerati wondered what she had done to deserve this openness from Briala, but nonetheless she enjoyed it. “A fine point indeed.”</p><p>“Leliana fully supports the return of the Dales to the elves, by the way. If anything else were the case, I wouldn’t be able to love her.”</p><p>“In Val Royeaux, most would consider love a tool of politics. Your stance seems to almost be the inverse, <em>n’est-ce pas</em>?”</p><p>“Hardly. I consider neither love nor politics to be tools. I carry my convictions and the admiration I feel towards many souls in the center of my heart, both are essential to me.”</p><p>“When playing the Game, both love and convictions far less pronounced than yours can easily be lethal.”</p><p>“Then I count myself lucky that I am not playing.”</p><p>“Yet; you are in love with one of the youngest players in the Grand Cathedral.”</p><p>“Leliana does what she must. I need not be capable of playing myself to see that she is doing great work. And you’d be surprised; she is quite the hopeless romantic when in private. Some would even consider her ambitions naïve and romantic, so I guess it’s not just when cuddling.”</p><p>“You said that you are currently dating Sapphia. What exactly do you mean by that?”</p><p>“I think…” Imerati’s voice cracked.</p><p>“It was not my intention to push you to a topic that makes you uncomfortable.”</p><p>Imerati sighed. “It’s… not that it makes me uncomfortable. For all my time in the circle, attraction has been something that male templars did to mostly female mages. The chantry sisters taught me… no. They indoctrinated me with the idea that only men get to desire women, and that if I ever wanted a chance to marry a woman one day, that I’d better step up and behave more like a man.” Her voice began to tremble and she exhaled loudly. “My love for women has been abused for more than a decade to convince me to live life pretending to be a man. Now, that people finally see me as a woman… or at least, sometimes address me as such, even the thought of finding women attractive in any sense feels like a poison ready to take everything away, nullifying everything I fought for...” Biting her lips, she broke of her monologue.</p><p>“Given how long humans have ruled this world, they will always see our feelings as threats. I am so sorry you had to go through this. Believe me, Imerati, you are a woman and a lesbian, just like I am, and nothing they can say or do can take that away from you. The feelings you have are beautiful and don’t make you any less of a woman.”</p><p>“The chantry’s blades are stuck deep within my soul and I try every day to remove them. I am thankful for your support.”</p><p>“You needn’t thank me, this should be self-evident.”</p><p>“Yet for most of this world, it isn’t.” Imerati smiled wearily. “But I still owe you an answer, don’t I?”</p><p>“Only if you want.”</p><p>“To put it bluntly: Sapphia is incredibly hot. And she makes it really obvious that she thinks me hot. She is an incredibly skilled flirter as well as very kind and careful yet also dominant person in intimate situations. Also, she has a really cute butt…” Imerati went silent for a moment, searching for words. “My desire for her is mostly sensual and sexual, and I don’t know if we’ll ever be emotionally close enough for romance to emerge. But we see eye to eye in everything, which isn’t hard given how beautiful the golden orange of her iris is.” Imerati giggled.</p><p>“Is it important to you that she makes her attraction to you clear?”</p><p>“Incredibly important, yes. Both my romantic attraction to some degree and my sexual attraction might be best described as echo-chambers: I only develop attraction of the kind other people tell me they have for me after they told me. There always needs to be a base layer of sensual and aesthetic attraction, though. It happens rarely that I fall in love and never that I want sexual intimacy before someone else told me they feel the same way. I’d definitely consider it a form of recipiosexuality.”</p><p> </p><p>A dampened ringing filled the silence.</p><p>“<em>Créateur</em>,” Briala muttered, “I am most afraid we need to go back soon, there is an event I’d like to attend at six.”</p><p>“Your pocket-watch has a timed alarm function?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t suggest spending time at the beach without being prepared to lose track of it while conversing with a good friend.”</p><p>Imerati’s eyes went wide. “You… you consider me… a friend? We have barely known each other for three weeks…”</p><p>Briala laughed softly. “Do you truly think I’d be able to talk about those things with a stranger or an enemy?”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 30th day of August, quarter past five</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The moment they had reentered the camp, Imerati had received an invitation by the Army of the Mage Rebellion to join them for a bit at their corner of the camp. Given that she loved the atmosphere created by so many different souls freed at once, she didn’t think long before walking there.</p><p>According the official plans for the camp layout, the Army of the Mage Rebellion’s grounds should have been a perfect square with a diagonal expansion of one-hundred and fifty steps . The seventy-ish lines of over forty tents that marked the outer perimeter of the area were, however, arranged very badly and could not pass as straight in any rigid sense. Despite all the mathematical prowess that human magic usually could amount to, the mages had managed to turn a square into an amalgam of a trapezoid and a pentagram. The tents were stacked together almost without gaps, leaving the grounds akin to walled in. One could only enter the grounds through a large gap between the mess tent and Sapphia’s tent that she lovingly designated the “General’s quarters”.</p><p>Going through the entrance, Imerati saw that the noise she had heard from the outside correlated with a bustling interior. Not unlike the caves beneath the Cat Tavern, there were many different seating and lounging opportunities strewn about the grounds and arranged in different positions. Individuals were sitting, standing, laying down, walking around. There were dozens of different conversations happening at once, and spells being casts every odd second. The only faces among the crowd she knew the names for were Ahn and Sera. It was overwhelming to a degree that Imerati froze. She didn’t react until a man she hadn’t seen before approached her.</p><p>“Hey, Heroine. Could you do me a favor?”</p><p>“Uh… sure.”</p><p>“Two things. There are some Dalish artifacts, magical mirror shards, I had picked up when we freed Kinloch Hold. It feels wrong for me to have them. They should go to some Dalish mage who can study them further.” He handed her some pieces of cloth wrapped around shards. She put them in her pocket. “Secondly, the General wants you to join her at her meeting.”</p><p>He pointed to a couple of long Nevarran couches arranged to a triangle at one of the corners on the other side of the grounds, to which Imerati promptly moved.</p><p> </p><p>On one of the couches was Meravas, over whose lap Hekka was laying down. On the other sat Théroigne, one foot on the couch, arms crossed over her knee, and Sapphia next to her, in the middle. On the last one sat Anders, cross-legged, and with some distance between him and her, an elven woman of short stature in an enchanter’s robe with tidy, short, black hair. Her skin had a warm, russet, reddish-brown color and her dark brown eyes had been fixed onto Imerati ever since Imerati had noticed her. Imerati had troubles placing what that look meant. Imerati sat down next to Sapphia.</p><p>Sapphia grinned as Imerati placed her head on Sapphia’s shoulder. “Judging by the fact that your hair is still wet and that your face only contains traces of what must formerly have been makeup, I’d wager your beach date went quite well.”</p><p>Fuck. She hadn’t thought about her makeup at all when she went into the ocean. It was imperative that she redo it at the earliest convenience. “It wasn’t a date.”</p><p>Hekka raised one of their eyebrows. “Are ya sure it wasn’t?”</p><p>“Yes. Absolutely. Why would you assume it was a date? How did you know I was on the beach, anyhow?”</p><p>Meravas smiled triumphantly as Hekka let out a sigh of defeat and handed her a silver coin. The Qunari woman looked to Imerati. “With all due respect, we were there when you first saw Sapphia and we regularly see you staring at Briala. You wanted this to be a date, didn’t you?”</p><p>Imerati shook her head furiously. “She isn’t comfortable with dating right now and I respect that. Also, it is too late now to deny that I like her, isn’t it?”</p><p>Théroigne snickered at this remark. “Too many women loving women around you to hide it, Imerati. Now, you remember the request I made about reinstating a former Warden that no longer possesses the Warden sense?”</p><p>“Yes. If I recall correctly, I waivered all official requirements to undergo the Joining again and requested to Montsimmard to have her send to the Fereldan Wardens.”</p><p>“May I introduce to you, then, Enchanter Fiona?”</p><p>The elven mage nodded towards Imerati. “Heroine. I’ve heard many tales of you so far, and some are quite confusing. Do you allow me to ask a question in order to clarify something that has been burning on my mind?”</p><p>Not unusual in the question itself, but Imerati was surprised at the tone and urgency with which it was presented. “Please, go ahead.”</p><p>“Are there reasons why Alistair had to die?”</p><p>A heavy silence fell onto the scene. “Alistair chose to make the ultimate sacrifice to save Ferelden. Either him or me had to absorb the soul of the Archdemon, and he insisted on this path. Alistair and I had, despite the odds of us being a former templar and a former circle mage, grown to become close friends. I’ve always had the conviction that ultimately, the autonomy of the individual extends to making free choices over their own life. There would have been a magical ritual that could have absolved us from the choice that had to be made at the top of Fort Drakon. But for some reason, the witch who proposed it didn’t see me as capable of fulfilling a role in it, and Alistair, the only other candidate, was unwilling to do so. He chose that path and knew it and was willing to take it to the end. I did not force him onto the throne against his will, I did not force him to marry Anora against his will, I did not force him to undergo the ritual. Every time, people tried to convince me that overlooking his decisions was for the best, but I would never act against his will. So, when the time came, and he told me that he was willing to carry his chosen duty to the end, I accepted this decision. I am fully aware that I owe my life to his heroism and sacrifice and will never forget that.”</p><p>Imerati had paused. Fiona looked down, clearly unsatisfied, but her eyes reflected more sadness where Imerati previously had suspected judgement. “May I ask why it matters to you? Most people ask similar questions because they think that the king-apparent died and an elf and mage survived, and that this was against the natural order of things. However, your question seemed to contain a genuine search for answers, not bigotry.”</p><p>Fiona looked to her, so much pain contained behind a weak smile. “You are not the first Monarch of Ferelden I know, Heroine. It seems to be now eons ago, but I’ve loved the man the world knows as King Maric Theirin. And he loved me as well. Alistair is…” Fiona paused as her voice went close to silence. “Alistair was our son.”</p><p>A lot of glances were exchanged all around as Imerati searched for an adequate answer. “I am so sorry, Enchanter…”</p><p>Anders looked to Fiona in disbelief. “A potential royal heir, the son of a mage? Why was this information kept secret? His regency could have been a signal…”</p><p>Fiona interrupted him. “I wanted him to be free of that destiny, a pawn in political games. It was best to hide Maric being the father as well as possible. I would have wanted him to choose his life freely, but sadly, his royal lineage was known to people I better not have trusted. But in a way, his path had been his decision. So I am actually thankful to you, Heroine, to some degree. And giving away his life to grant a friend a chance to live on and to save the world... He definitely takes after both of us.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 30th day of August, half past nine</em>
</p><p> </p><p>As per usual every evening, Leliana lay on the mattress and read through some correspondence. Given that it was summer, she was just in her underpants, technically ready to sleep but still full awake. Imerati had been staring close to their tents’ entrance, just smiling, looking at her beautiful girlfriend.</p><p>Looking up from her papers, Leliana smiled back at her, warmly and full of love. “Sapphia has informed me that you have adopted a daughter and that the rebellion is now her collective parent.”</p><p>Imerati opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again. Shit. She had been so preoccupied with the day that she had completely forgotten the girl. Where would Sera sleep tonight?</p><p>Leliana answered Imerati’s unspoken question. “She has taken a liking in some of the mages and will find a place in their tent for the rest of the campaign. Besides, from what I’ve experienced so far, that girl can be very self-reliant when needed. She has stolen the Royal Crown, she’ll probably be able to find a place to sleep on her own, don’t you think?”</p><p>“How is it you always know what I think?”</p><p>“Because we have harmonized our communication so much that we can take excellent guesses what is on the other’s mind at most times. Do you want to tell me how your time with Briala went?”</p><p>Imerati undressed herself and cuddled up on Leliana’s side, her arms around Leliana’s torso and her left leg bend and resting over Leliana’s. She kissed Leliana repeatedly on the neck, causing Leliana to giggle.</p><p>“First, I am afraid I have a confession to make,” began Imerati.</p><p>“You had the royal prosecutor arrested and have decriminalized theft, I know. Josephine and I already talked about it. We’ve created a text for a decree that formalizes your proposal for decriminalizing theft. It has a negligibly low chance to come into effect in noble territories for now, but the former Crown Lands should accept it for the most part. You’ll have to sign it tomorrow morning.”</p><p>Softly placing her hand on Leliana’s check, Imerati turned Leliana’s head towards her and kissed her with passion. After a short eternity, her lips left Leliana’s and she looked into Leliana’s eyes. “I love you so much, do you know that?”</p><p>“I love you so much, my rose.”</p><p>“Your presence is a beacon of light and warmth in my life and I would not change this situation for any other.”</p><p>“So is yours and neither would I.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter started off as a sketch of 157 words, now it is roughly twelve thousand. I regret nothing, especially the beach scene, which was completely unplanned and grew organically. I want to thank my queerplatonic gf at this point, with whom I discussed trauma reactions and friendship dynamics for that scene. Her input was invaluable to make the progression of their friendship seem hopefully somewhat natural.</p><p>Some might think that Sera would have already been traumatized by Lady Emmald by now, given that the story takes place after the Blight, but I decided that Sera has never been adopted by Lady Emmald in this timeline. Given that she is in her early twenties in Inquisition, she is between ten and fifteen years old during the Blight, so I chose the lower range of that to give Sera a happy childhood with a family of queer elven mages. Given Kristjansons writing, I've just elected to to ignore a lot of it.</p><p>Fiona is Alistair’s mother and she is a character of color, fight me. I always use Inquisition-rendered images when I describe characters, both canon and OC, and with Fiona as well as Briala, I once again want to mention Dalishious’ excellent mods. Without their mods, I would write both characters without visual reference. I should at this point also mention that I have used several Elven terms for queer identities that they have extrapolated from canon. I should not compare my work to theirs, because I know the aim of this story varies from that of Journey’s End, yet I should mention the influence their entire work within the fandom had and has on my understanding of Dragon Age.</p><p>Furthermore, there is a long history of white european leftists copying Indigenous ideas and selling them as their own (something I was made aware of by the video essay "Stolen Anarchy: Playing Indian &amp; The Roots of Collectivism" by TwinRabbit on YouTube), so I want to make my influences clear. When I think of a better society, one free of prisons, capitalism, the police and the patriarchy, when I think of how a society might look like assembling from below upwards and not being ruled from the top down, I my thoughts wander to the Self-Governing Zapatistan Communities in Chiapas as an existing example. When writing the Dalish Kingdom as a foil to the Orlesian Empire, it is impossible that my ideas for it will not reflect my thoughts on a better society. It is not my place to write about the Zapatistan Revolution, yet this story will discuss questions like “how will Thedas work without kings or templars”, and given the real-world analogies that this question entails, there might be subconscious connections to my thoughts about the Zapatistan Revolution when I try to answer them.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Dux sedet in vertice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons engages the Fereldan army and plans his ascension into the highest imperial office.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: The point-of-view character for this chapter is a canonically chauvinistic queermisic militaristic ableist classist colonizing misogynistic piece of shit. He is a despicable man, and I would not give him any narrative sympathy ever. This chapter also describes the violence of a military engagment in very graphic detail. </p><p>I've written Gaspard to act and speak a lot like two chauvinists in positions of power that I have met and feared in my life. So, for example, he misgenders Imerati very violently at several points in this chapter, just like Cullen did some chapters before. I assure you, Gaspard will fail. The violent status quo he represents and perpetuates and abuses for his own profit will fully fall in the span of this fanfiction.</p><p>This chapter has three narrative purposes, for one, to explore the mindset of the nobility in the late Orlesian empire, secondly, to establish why Neimena's assessment of Gaspard's hubristic character and leadership style was spot on and why he acts precisely the way she predicted in battle, and lastly, to establish an antagonist I have planned for way way into the future of this fanfiction, so:</p><p>!!! You can easily skip this chapter at any point and still have a decent idea what is happening. !!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 12th of Kingsway, twelve hours past midnight</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons was surrounded by incompetence on a treasonous scale. That was the conclusion he arrived at in this moment. Cursing the passage of time, he also cursed this new generation of Chevaliers.</p><p>This Chevalier in front of him wasn’t even Orlesian by birth. The Grand Duke could hear it in the way the boy rolled the “R”s and lengthened the “A”s, he was a parvenu from the Orlesian-Nevarran border. His eyes seemed to large for his narrow face, his gaze was piercing, not knowing their place. Where the Orlesian nobility would usually have pale white skin, this boy’s skin reflected too many sunburns, marking him lower than gentry: gentry that had barely ever seen civilization. His hair was wild, pitch black and shoulder length. His eyebrows were negligibly thin, and he barely had any facial hair. Which backwater crèche did this one fall out of yesterday? His armor was light plated and bore no Heraldic Symbols, probably because his family had been too poor to even afford a simple crest engraving. Pathetic.</p><p>“… and that is why I urge you to consider sending the Chevaliers behind the legions and distribute them equally among the legions. At least, it would be prudent to wait for the legions to catch up to the Chevaliers, they are now five hours behind us. The legions carry much more provisions than we do, ours will likely run out in a few days, and given that we advance much faster than them as we are mostly on horseback, we’ll just gain more and more distance to them. Of course, I mean no disrespect, Ser.”</p><p>“What is your name, boy?”</p><p>The boy gulped. “Treveon Alexandre, Chevalier de Corsdunord, Ser.”</p><p>“No. I asked for your name.”</p><p>“Ser, that is my name…”</p><p>“Tell me your real name, for you won’t have an Orlesian one.”</p><p>The boy went paler. “Uh… I have been accepted into the fold of the Chantry as Treveone Alexandarra, that was twenty years ago, Ser. But once I mo…”</p><p>“Why are you here, <em>Treveone</em>?”</p><p>“Uh… I have passed the Royal Engineer Officer’s Academy in Val Royeaux three months ago, and I lead a company of siege enginee…”</p><p>“No. Why are you pestering me with your insolence, <em>Treveone</em>?”</p><p>Sweat started glistening on the boy’s forehead. “Uh…”</p><p>“If you need to know, <em>Treveone</em>, we need no provisions. We carry no provisions because these people here are mostly peasants. We can take what we need and advance much quicker. I have fought these people before, <em>Treveone</em>. I know what I am doing.”</p><p>“Of course, Ser, I did not mea…”</p><p>“I could consider this an insult to my authority under the Chevalier Code, <em>Treveone</em>, and strike you down where you stand. But I do know you are barely Orlesian yourself and I am in a good and forgiving mood. Take your pesky company, vanish from my sight and return East to walk with the legions, and you might live.”</p><p>The boy saluted, pale as chalk, and stumbled away. Good. Gaspard did not expect him to get far in his life, even if he fixed that attitude. Most people just weren’t born for greatness and weren’t able to leave that role to the nobility.</p><p>The Nevarran boy had been wrong in his strategical assessment as well. For five days, Gaspard’s armies had been walking through a long valley within the mountainous terrain through which the Imperial Highway had been built right up until the tip of Lake Calenhad. The Frostback mountains, including their foothills, had slowed them down dramatically, the armies had crossed only a dozen of miles per day when they marched through Gherlen’s Pass. Now, since noon yesterday, they had been slowly traversing a deep gorge going from west to east that was barely half a mile wide at times. It was strategically vital to make up for the time lost at the start of the campaign by avoiding a long detour up north that would cost them three days plus any time spent crossing two rivers. The gorge was the most logical path to take Trained Orlesian legions would have had the stamina and discipline to march in lines narrower, but Gaspard wasn’t marching with Orlesian legionaries. He cursed again. Only one in five soldiers the Chevaliers had provided was a trained legionary, and the rest were peasants barely trained enough to point a pike in the right direction. There was no reason not to be a couple of hours in front of them. Gaspard cursed how little most of the young Chevaliers that accompanied him possessed. Their parents, mostly Chevaliers too old to fight themselves, had looked on his proposal with scepsis. Sadly, those were also the commanding officers of most of the legions. Still, at least the peasants were equipped with modern and good Orlesian weapons and bore enough supplies for three months. The Marquise de Val Chemin had been an excellent saleswoman and negotiator with the Orlesian Ordre des Maréchal-Ferrants and had secured good prices for metalworks, and the Chevaliers at least had had some coins to their name.</p><p>Gaspard stepped outside the Imperial Mess Hall that was reserved for him and his highest-in-commands. The air was surprisingly cold and humid. He cursed the Fereldan weather. It was as if the clouds themselves were more savage the further one departed from Val Royeaux. They had passed one shepherd’s hut, barely more than a few planks of wood, two hours ago before making rest for noon and erecting a temporary camp. No more civilization existed here among the stones and shrubberies and the shadow of sharp mountainsides except the ruins of the Imperial Highway, weathered and overgrown after the centuries. Tevinter’s grip on Thedas had fallen as Orlais’ might was rising. It felt right to trample on the ruins of the maleficars’ failure with Orlesian boots.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 12th of Kingsway, fourteen hours past midnight</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Gaspard looked into the mirror, and, as he was pleased, ordered the page to leave, which the boy promptly did. The Grand Duke’s armor was a magnificent testament to his status, one that Val Royeaux would accept when this current campaign concluded successfully. It was a full set of exquisite full plate armor made out of a volcanic aurum-iron alloy, so polished it stood shimmering between gold and silver. The pauldrons, helmet and gloves were completely gilded, whereas the rest of the armor had gilded details, forming, among other things, an imperial lion on his chestplate. The leather shining through the few gaps of the armor was the green of lurker scales was accompanied by nevarrite chainmail as reinforcement for the jeopardized gaps between the solid metal armor parts. The green denoted his status as ruler of Verchiel, and the purple of the chainmail hinted at his imperial ambition. Both of the gloves were fully articulated, not because Gaspard was ambidextrous, but because the small metal bits carefully assembled to make a metal glove articulated were not cheap at all. This armor, above being the latest and most sturdy defense anyone in the known world could get their hands on, was meant to show off his power. For a moment, he pondered putting on the helmet, but decided against it. Not yet. The helmet severely restricted his field of view, instead of a slit for the eyes like a typical templar armor, it had a few dozen small holes per eye. That was meant to increase his protection from arrows to the face, but it gave a delay between visual information and that information being accessible to him, given that his eyes always had to defocus the metal close to them. He could, of course, leave the helmet open, but why wear a helmet then in the first place? Content, he stepped out of his personal tent.</p><p> </p><p>Fog had begun pressing down into the gorge in full force. Gaspard cursed the fog as he entered his command tent, cloaked in Imperial Purple and Royal Gold, yet one wouldn’t have been able to see the colors if they hadn’t been a couple of dozen of steps away. Two flagbearers stood next to the entrance, both displaying the banner of the Imperial Lion. He wasn’t Emperor as of now, and in Val Royeaux, those banners in front of his tent would have caused a major political upcry. But Celene’s claws could not reach him here, this was his ground and his battlefield.</p><p>Inside, he immediately saw the Chevalier de Pourrin and the Marquise de Val Chemin argue in front of a map on a table.</p><p>“The people will be so estranged of the noble way, Chevalier, that they will need a subtle yet firm hand, versed in the Game, to guide them back into their Maker-given place in society,” argued the Marquise.</p><p>“A firm hand requires strength. You said yourself that they were estranged from reality by a knife-ear. How many of those have you ever put down, Marquise? Because I know how to effectively deal with them,” returned the Chevalier.</p><p>Gaspard strode towards them and raised his voice. “What are you quarreling about?”</p><p>“Your Majesty,…” began the Marquise.</p><p>“I am most certainly entitled to Amaranthine! My family has an ancestral claim to Vigil’s Keep!” interrupted the Chevalier.</p><p>“And I tell you, Amaranthine will need administration, which you are clearly unable to give correctly!”</p><p>Gaspard glanced at the table. “Is this a map of the territory in question?”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty!”</p><p>“Does it point East?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Gaspard drew his sword and swung it towards the table. It cut the map in half. “Whoever does a better job today gets the northern part with the city and the keep. Whoever underperforms gets the rest. Understood?”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty!”</p><p>They both looked rather happy. Gaspard didn’t bother to look at the map again. Had he observed it more closely, he would have seen that his cut went through marshes, forests, hills, bays, rivers, streets and cities. But he didn’t. If he ever thought twice about such decisions, he would never have been a Grand Duke.</p><p>“Are you finished with the leaflet, Marquise?”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty! Shall I read it to you?”</p><p>“We don’t have the time for that.”</p><p>Gaspard tore out the paper from the Marquise’ hand and began reading. “<em>To the Honored Nobles of Val Royeaux and all of Orlais,</em></p><p><em>Orlais has rotten in the last decade. It has grown limp and weak, unable to stand to its glory. Its guiding hand has vanished from Thedas, replaced by empty words. The beacon of Civilization has become dim, and into the darkness creeps decay. Look to the east and see the truth! The Viceroyaume of Ferelden has been crumbling for decades under pretenses of freedom. Unworthy of the association the word brings with it, the so-called “nobility” of Ferelden has lost all reason. We have watched in agony as they grew weaker on maleficar and on the rabbits over the last decades. Now the Crown of Ferelden is soiled by the influence of a rabbit maleficar, calling himself a Queen, a dangerous delusion Ferelden seems to support! Where there is a rabbit close to any throne, there is chaos. This demon has poisoned the nature of society, killing upstanding nobles and elevating mere commoners to speak like the aristocracy! He has even dared to murder the Champions of the Just! Lawlessness and death are walking the streets of the cities, and it is only a matter of time before this corruption will threaten the fabric of our great nation! To bring order back to Ferelden and bring it back into Orlais’ guidance, Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons has assembled an army of brave Chevaliers to subdue those who challenge the Maker’s plan for society. High Chancellor Roderick of the Chantry and Lord Seeker Threyn Enfera will accompany the Heroes of Orlais, making sure that the Holy Cause will bring Faith and Holy Law back into Ferelden. May they bring back glory to the nation!</em>”</p><p>“Good. Have it sent to Val Royeaux for printing and distribution at once.” Gaspard handed the leaflet back to the Marquise, who bowed and stepped away.</p><p>“Pourrin. Are there any reports from the avant-garde?”</p><p>The Chevalier turned around swiftly, his broad steel war axe barely missing a support beam of the tent. All things considered, it was still a bit more clumsy than Gaspard had come to expect from him. Previously, he moved rather smoothly in his black and gold full plate armor. Gaspard had seen him in action before, during a summer hunting trip, and remembered the man’s eagerness recently. It had been a good decision to make this man his second-in-command.</p><p>“Only one, your majesty!”</p><p>Gaspard cursed the Chevaliers he had picked as scouts. “I had fifteen sent out.”</p><p>“The one report speaks of nothing but fog, making the terrain less than ideal to traverse, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“Mage!” Gaspard ordered.</p><p>A mage in Circle clothes moved closer to him from the back of the tent. “Yes, Your Majesty?”</p><p>“Are there magic ways to regulate the weather?”</p><p>“Some, Your Majesty. There are the occasional very skilled battle mages known to conjure localized thunderstorms.”</p><p>“Could this fog be the result of magical activity?”</p><p>“One would need more than one Circle worth of mage…”</p><p>“It’s them,” Gaspard concluded. “Order all units to prepare for battle. Light, straight-lined attack formation up front, open formation in the back. Every Chevalier shall carry a shield and get on horseback now. Complete battle-readiness from now on. Double attention from the lookouts! They’ll strike before this evening, and they’ll come from the east.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty!”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 12th of Kingsway, seventeen hours past midnight</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The first row of Chevaliers consisted of fifty men in various plate armors on armored horses, flying many different banners. Gaspars could make out among the heraldic insignia the elven sprig broken by a sword of the Pourrins, the two crossed fish of the Du Lac, the key and the lock of the Proulx, the three conjoined tankards of the Corbins, and the red lilies of the Blanchards. The rest was too shrouded in the mist they were crossing to make out clearly. All had armor so polished and flags so vibrant it was clear that they had never participated in a real battle. He cursed having to work with rookies, much unlike his last military battles in Ferelden. They would not face rabbits like in the hunts back home. These rabbits were armed and angry and would try to wound them. While onlooking, he noticed something about the way Pourrin lead his horse.</p><p>“Aren’t you right-handed, Pourrin?”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty! I am!”</p><p>“You seem to only touch the harness with your left, though.”</p><p>“I am trying to rest my right. It got somewhat enflamed and wounded after an unfortunate evening behind the knife-ear’s walls...”</p><p>“If your axe isn’t enough to keep you safe in the alienage, how will you fight here, with only your left?”</p><p>“I assure you, Your Majesty, I will be able to use it properly. I just need to rest it when possible.”</p><p>The stench of the horses would normally be bearable, but the air pressure within the gorge made it barely bearable. Gaspard cursed the Fereldan topography and closed his visor. It wouldn’t make any difference keeping it open at this point.</p><p>The sound of that many hooves moving forward was a thunderous roar, even in the working trot he had ordered them to upkeep. Normally, the hooves of a cavalry that large would whirl up a significant amount of dust, given their position away. The fog would be disadvantageous for their enemy in that regard. From somewhere behind, he heard a shout.</p><p>“Toujours Orlais, toujours les Chevaliers, toujours la Couronne!”</p><p>Another voice joined in, just as triumphantly and needlessly loud as the first.</p><p>“Pour la Couronne, pour la gloire, a la victoire!”</p><p>Gaspard forced his horse around abruptly, so fast that the Chevalier behind him startled and had to regain control of his horse. “Stay silent, you cretins! You’ll alert the enemy to our position!” he shouted back, less loud than the Chevaliers.</p><p>“Your Majesty, you can’t seriously believe that the enemy is that close!” a Chevalier responded so loud it echoed from the walls of the gorge back. The insolence of some of these young Chevaliers was a transgression of status he would have to punish severely after the battle. He was their commander, how dared they question if he had been correct…</p><p> </p><p>Of course, he had been correct. The sounds cutting through the air were reminiscent of an aggressive insect and made clear to him in an instant that he had been correct. For him, that sound indicated cowardice. The Chevalier code demanded fights to be conducted face to face. Ranged weapons never told the story of the prowess one had in a sword or axe or spear. An archer could hit an unprepared target without ever making themselves known to their victim. Rabbit archers had had devastating effects among his comrades back when he last fought in Ferelden, back in his youth. That’s why he had mandated heavy plate armor and extra shield training from his Chevaliers this time. “SHIELDS!” he shouted louder than anyone had before in this gorge. A first hail of arrows rained down upon the Chevaliers in front. The young Chevalier de Corbin hadn’t reacted fast enough, had just stared at the source of the sound and an arrow promptly pierced through the slit in his helmet, the tip emerging between his shoulder plates and the lower part of his helmet. He slid from his neighing horse as another volley hit.</p><p>Gaspard looked on the ground as the arrows burrowed themselves into the ground, giving the impression of wild reeds. They seemed to concentrate on a position somewhat north from him. Glancing south, they became less dense. Another volley hit. They were concentrating fire on a point and shooting from an area much closer than would be normal for such a maneuver. So, Gaspard concluded, they made up for a weaker, maybe even unformed part of their line up further north by shielding it with cover fire. Another volley hit. Their stronger units had concentrated on the south and not expected so many of his troops. “CLOSED SPEARHEAD FORMATION AROUND ME! WIDENING FORMATION BEHIND ME, STRONG WING TO MY LEFT! STICK LOOSELY TO THE SOUTHERN WALL FOR PROTECTION!” He could break their lines and disperse them quickly without many casualties.</p><p>Only a few horses and Chevaliers seemed to have been killed so far. Another volley hit, only to break on the shields and heavy horse armor. His preparations paid off in dividends. Units moved loudly to respond to his call. Another volley hit. Looking around, he saw that twenty elite Chevaliers had turned up as his right and left wing, among them his most trusted lieutenants. Well enough. Another volley hit. “CHARGE!”</p><p>It had been long since he had led a cavalry charge of this size, and yet he could taste the glory within the current one. The first Fereldan blood of this war would be spilled by him and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Between the position they charged from and the enemy had only been three volleys. As soon as he could make them out, he could see human wardens in silver-blue striped light armor. He didn’t mind spilling their blood. What he did mind was the first, second and third line of them being shield-bearing and handling long spears. Might they have been taken by surprise by the Chevaliers’ proximity, they still had marched in formation this entire time. He cursed these wardens.</p><p>Pulling all force that he could into the strike, he broke off the tip of the closest spear with his sword in one swift swing. Without slowing his horse down, he forced it to jump slightly at the last moment. With full inertia, its hooves crashed through the wardens’ shields and armor. Around him, the Fereldan screams indicated that similarly, their entire line was breaking down under the heavy charge. When his horse stood still again, he slashed his sword through the closest warden’s raised hand and stabbed his head directly afterwards.</p><p>He looked around. The warden’s line was only three soldiers thin, behind them stood, in maybe fifty steps distance, their archers in a loose and open formation, still firing on a point way behind him now. After two more warden shieldmen and one warden with a spear fell to his sword, he turned his attention to the archers. Around him, the warden’s line had completely collapsed, some of them were running towards their own archers now. Only one Chevalier lay dead among the many dead wardens. Cowardice paved the path leading to their death. Raising his sword and making one rotation with his horse, he gained the attention of the Chevaliers around him. “ON ME! SHIELDS IN FRONT! CHARGE THE ARCHERS!”</p><p> </p><p>He had made one miscalculation. He had expected the archers to rout almost instantly. Instead, they appeared to form lines in parallel with the sides of the gorge. He only understood why as they dropped their longbows and revealed the heavy iron crossbows they had carried on their back. Audrillion de Blanchard, one of the quickest and most agile Chevaliers Gaspard had ever known, died a few steps to his right as two bolts punched straight through his chestplate.</p><p>Normally, one volley of crossbow bolts would be devastating but would be followed by half a minute of silence for reloading. Heavy crossbows, even ones with loading mechanisms, would take a lot of preparation to reload. A skilled archer could fire arrows thrice as fast as crossbow bolts. Essentially, they were a fire once, throw away and grab a melee weapon type of tool on the open battlefield. However, this was not the case with the Fereldan warden archers. Once they had fired, they stepped to their left and ran to the back of their line, allowing the next in line to fire. While they stood in line, waiting, they could reload and then, when they were in front again, could fire again. It even gave a slight defensive bonus, as after every volley, they moved back one or two steps simply by the first in line moving back while the rest stayed unmoving.</p><p>Gaspard now understood. Their shield walls had been a distraction. Even their arrow volleys had been a distraction. He cursed as more bolts buzzed past him. Hadn’t Beatrix the second put a moratorium on using crossbows against the Maker’s soldiers, given how they cruelly didn’t separate between strong and weak users? He cursed the heathens he was fighting against. They had positioned their shield wall not to stop him, but to lure his forces in the perfect distance for their crossbow fire.</p><p>Every pretense of charge stopped as a bolt hit the leg of his horse, violently throwing him off the saddle. He hit the ground hard. He tasted blood and had to gasp for air as the inertia of his chestplate had pressed all the air out of his lungs. Too heavy. His limbs were too heavy too move. His neck hurt and his head rung, louder and louder. Deafeningly loud.</p><p>Could he have observed the scene from a bird’s eye perspective, he would have seen several Chevaliers storming their horses in front of him, right into the fire, being torn down by the warden’s bolts. Some were already on foot but met a similar fate all around him. The wardens themselves were falling back first two, then three, then five steps per volley. As the Chevaliers were paralyzed and disorganized by the constant crossbow fire, they weren’t able to notice that. As the Grand Duke was on the ground, barely holding on to his consciousness, he wasn’t able to see that the corpses piling up around him were his saving grace that saved his life. Dozens of zealous young Orlesian nobles gave their lives to get close to the man they had hoped to one day see as Emperor.</p><p> </p><p>As he regained control over his senses again, he tore off his helmet and puked. After a while, some steps seemed to be coming closer. He reached for a nearby spear and forced all his willpower into his upper body and arm. He rolled around, sat down upright and swung the spear around.</p><p>The Chevalier de Pourrin jumped back at the last second, the bend tip of the spear barley missing his thigh. “Hoh! It is me, Your Majesty!”</p><p>Gaspard sighed and relaxed his muscles. Grabbing the outstretched left hand of the Chevalier with his own right, he got back up again. “Are they beaten?”</p><p>Pourrin looked down. “Your Majesty…”</p><p>“Tell me now!”</p><p>“They have vanished into the fog minutes ago. There’s no sign of them now.”</p><p>Gaspard cursed loudly. “How are our casualties looking?”</p><p>“There’s no way to tell that now. Among several dozens, from what I’ve seen so far.”</p><p>A glance around Gaspard revealed as much. He cursed again. Suddenly, the fog seemed to continually lessen. A dozen steps more around him became visible every second, revealing dead horses and Chevaliers, then the Fereldan corpses that had been their shield wall, then, after a minute the sides of the gorge. Then, the fog was gone. It had definitely been magic in origin.</p><p>Climbing onto some nearby boulders, neatly differentiated in height as if intended to be his stairs, Gaspard could see where his disorganized Chevalier vanguard had withdrawn to, along with the rest of the Chevaliers that hadn’t participated in the charge, still in formation both in the west.</p><p>With the loud sound of several horns blown at once, what looked like the Fereldan’s main force appeared from the east. The walls of the gorge seemed to fall off at that point. Good. They were close to its exit. A swift victory here would give them back a wider area to march through. Given the reports on the rabbit pretender’s forces, they seemed to be bringing most of their units into the field. No Fereldan nobles had added to the rabbit’s forces, giving Gaspard the impression that even the gentry was capable of making a good decision once in a while. Once he would secure a victory here, the way to Denerim was open and no one would oppose bringing Ferelden back into Orlais.</p><p>While Gaspard was preparing to return to the Chevaliers and rally them again, an explosion shook the gorge to the east. Then, half a dozen went off at once all around him.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 12th of Kingsway, eighteen hours past midnight</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The ash and dust were dense at first, but they settled quickly and what remained suspended in the air was less intense than the fog had been. Gaspard sat on a finely carved and thoroughly detailed dark oak armchair covered in a burgundy upholstery. In these circumstances, is was as much of a throne as he could get. His command tent had been hastily and clumsily re-erected, but the slightly slanted support beams weren’t on his mind right now.</p><p>Ducking through the entrance, a rather tall but narrow man in an Orlesian herald’s uniform entered the tent and saluted the Grand Duke.</p><p>“Your Majesty!”</p><p> “Report.”</p><p>“I have identified the last of the corpses among those slaughtered by the crossbowfire.” Gaspard lauded that herald silently for keeping up with official protocol. A subordinate had to only present the gist of their report to a person of higher rank. It wasn’t their place to decide if such a report was worthy of the time of their superior.</p><p>“And what is your assessment?”</p><p>“Thirteen potential heirs to Duchies are dead, as well as twelve heirs-apparent. Twenty-nine potential heirs or heirs-apparent to Earldoms were killed. One hundred and eighty-one Chevaliers of a  status lesser than Earls have fallen.”</p><p>Gaspard cursed in his mind. Twelve vacancies in lines of succession this high would cause a major commotion in Val Royeaux. One Celene might bend to his disadvantage and her advantage if he didn’t get ahead of the narrative.</p><p>“Any news from the casualties in the collapses of the gorge walls?”</p><p>“No, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“Well. Go and assist the teams assigned to those spots. Dismissed.”</p><p>The herald saluted and went outside again. Gaspard took the golden wine glass from the small table next to him. Nipping from it, he frowned. The wine from Jader just was very crude for Orlesian standards, but it was the best one his army had been carrying. He cursed Ferelden. Even the rotten grape juice from Jader would probably seem like high culture compared to whatever these peasants were creating.</p><p>As he looked at the wine bottle in disgust, he saw the Chevalier de Pourrin enter from the corner of his eye. He weighed the bottle in his hand for a few seconds more, not paying attention to the knight.</p><p>“Your… Your Majesty… I have… important news…”</p><p>Gaspard put the bottle back down and looked to the knight. “If you are so out of breath, then you should wait a moment before giving news that you deem important, lest you jeopardize a full report.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty.” Pourrin inhaled loudly. “I have found the carcass of the knife-ear that dared call himself the queen of this backwater.”</p><p>Now, this was indeed worthily described as important news. “Lead me to it.”</p><p> </p><p>From the provisional command center, it took the horses five minutes to arrive at the edge of the giant black crater at the exit of the gorge. At its maximum diameter, it spanned from one side of the gorge to the other. Gaspard judged it to be a mile in diameter. Around its edge, charred corpses and clumps of burned metal were the only remnants of the soldiers who stood there when the explosion happened. Pourrin guided him to a partially collapsed part of the gorge wall. From the reports, this wasn’t the worst collapse in the gorge; nine miles to his east, the entire walls had collapsed, making the gorge effectively impassable. The Chevaliers were effectively cut off from the legions.</p><p>Pourrin pointed down to a boulder that had cracked in two from falling over. Partially buried under it, but visible from the mid-torso downward, was a body in golden armor. Gaspard crouched to take a closer look at it. The armor set was, even for Orlesian standards, quite magnificent. There was a sense of months of work from the most apt of blacksmiths in every detail, from the carving on the gauntlets to the black and purple leather. This couldn’t be gold.</p><p>“What material is that?”</p><p>“Dragon Bone, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“How did they get so much of it?”</p><p>“King Cailan of Ferelden apparently was an avid dragon hunter.”</p><p>Well. The Fereldan nobility did occasionally bring forth promising and capable warriors worthy of noble titles. “Too bad the top of the torso is dented in, it would have made a magnificent trophy.”</p><p>“Indeed. Still, parts of it are still intact. Shall I order the engineers to lift the boulder, so that recovering it won’t damage it further.”</p><p>“Sure. Are we certain this carcass is that of the pretender?”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty, for two reasons. First of all, we know he wore this all the time during the Blight and at an important meeting of the local nobility a few months back. Secondly, we have an eyewitness to his death.”</p><p>“Oh?”</p><p>“Yes, a dwarven engineer. He is being held in a cage close by.”</p><p>“I want to question him myself.”</p><p>“Yes, your majesty.”</p><p> </p><p>Around the prison cage were stationed four Chevaliers. In it, a dwarf sat cross-legged, head hanging down. The dwarf’s beard, hair and moustache were equally wild. The dwarf raised his head as Gaspard punched against the bars twice.</p><p>“Tell me what happened here, dwarf!”</p><p>“Who are you to order me around?”</p><p>Gaspard’s eyes narrowed. “I’m Gaspard de Chalons, Grand Duc de Verchiel, Grand Chevalier d’Orlais and future Vice-Roi de Ferelden. Speak, dwarf, or I’ll make sure that you won’t ever be able to do so again.”</p><p>“Well, Gaspard de Chalons, you can quite clearly look around and see that we fucked up.”</p><p>“What did you intend with that explosion?”</p><p>“To kill you, obviously. There were multiple points of the gorge we wanted to collapse and bury you. It would appear that we have succeeded at least at some points.” Gaspard pressed his teeth together. The dwarf was sadly correct in that regard.</p><p>“And this crater? Have you placed explosives here?”</p><p>“Yes, underground in tunnels. If your main force had engaged the army as planned, it would have retreated and you would have at some point stood here.” Again, they would have succeeded with luring him into a trap. Gaspard cursed silently.</p><p>“Why did it go off prematurely?”</p><p>“A team of engineers fucked up placing the fuses.”</p><p>“How do you know all of that?”</p><p>The dwarf stood up and pointed to his body. He was wearing a uniform. “I’m… I was the chief of engineering.”</p><p>“You saw the pretender to the throne be crushed by a boulder?”</p><p>The dwarf went silent and looked down.</p><p>“Tell me, dwarf!”</p><p>Suddenly, the dwarf spat in Gaspard’s face. “She was a good person. Nothing you bastard Chevaliers will ever be able to be.”</p><p>Gaspard wiped the spit from his face and span around in fury. “Pourrin, see this one be returned to Val Royeaux and tortured to death.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty. There is yet another report I want to make.”</p><p>“Speak.”</p><p>“Our scouts have identified the camps the enemy was using before the battle in the hills east of the gorge. There are ten half-fortified camps with the capacity to hold about three hundred people each.”</p><p>“Half-fortified? Did they not manage to finish building them?”</p><p>“Not exactly, your majesty. Some of the hills are quite steep and close together and the enemy seems to have built palisades between them, using the hills as de facto walls.”</p><p>Gaspard tilted his head. “Is wood this sparse around here?”</p><p>“No, Your Majesty. There is a rather large forest near the nearby settlements of Ethford and Selathing. I don’t know why the enemy just didn’t cut down more of the forest.”</p><p>“It wouldn’t be the first strategical miscalculation they made today.”</p><p>“The loot is still being accounted for, but every of those camps has decent amounts of food, wine and gold in it. And, in what appears to be the main camp furthest to the east, there are several casks of Orlesian wine. One of the Chevaliers called it a ‘late harvest 8:17 Val Chemin’. I am afraid I don’t know what that means.”</p><p>Gaspard’s eyes lit up. Pourrin was a bit rough and not completely tuned to the fine noble life. “That’s one of the best years and best harvests of the last age, extremely sweet and strong wine.” He thought for a moment. “How long, did you estimate, will it take for the legions to traverse the collapsed parts of the gorge?”</p><p>“A day and a night, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“How far away are those camps?”</p><p>“The closest is two miles away, the furthest is five miles away. Easy to reach per horse within two hours.”</p><p>“I want all the Chevaliers to go there and enjoy the spoils of war. The main camp is reserved for me, the rest can brawl over who gets what. We have won this war. Let’s celebrate that.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty. Anything else that I should tell them?”</p><p>“Not for them specifically, but I’ve made my choice. You have given me the news of the death of the pretender rabbit and have fought valiantly today. You get Amaranthine.”</p><p>Pourrin grinned wildly. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 12th of Kingsway, twenty-two hours past midnight</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“He is not a man fit to bring back law and order to the cities, Your Majesty!”</p><p>There was a lot of drinking happening all around them. The Grand Duke and the important Chantry members and Templars and Chevaliers of high rank were all enjoying the victory. Gaspard was sitting on the golden mobile Fereldan throne that he had had carried out of the royal tent of Ferelden, in front of which they had lit a fire of Fereldan banners. Some Chevaliers were showing off their musical abilities, singing songs of victories past. Some had so low tolerance they were laying around in tents and in the open air, having passed out. The air was warm like a late summer day and the stars were clearly visible above.</p><p>“What makes you so certain about that, Marquise? Are you questioning the judgement of the Viceroi?”</p><p>The Marquise de Val Chemin went white and bowed. “Please pardon my transgression, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“I’m in a good mood, Marquise. Have you finished your draft on the victory declaration?”</p><p>“Yes, Your Majesty. Shall I read it to you?”</p><p>Gaspard looked around him and reached for another glass of wine he had placed next to him just a minute ago. He was losing track of objects, but he wouldn’t stop on the wine, not yet. “Do it.”</p><p>“<em>To the Honored Nobles of Val Royeaux and all of Orlais,</em></p><p><em>Rejoice! For on the 12<sup>th</sup> day of Kingsway of the 31<sup>st</sup> year of the Dragon Age, we welcome the Viceroyaume de Ferelden back into the Empire! After decades of weakness, a group of Chevaliers under the command of Grand Duc Gaspard de Chalons has beaten the conjurations of a maleficar rabbit that has plagued the Viceroyaume. Despite the flood of abominations and corrupted minds, Orlesian Chivalry has once again triumphed over the evils of these lands. Some of those heroes have given their lives for the Holy Cause, and they will be remembered for all of eternity. The heroic example and strategical genius of the Grand Duc has saved many more from falling to the demonic forces that had assembled against them. When the triumphant heroes arrive in the capital of Denerim, the Orlesian Flag will once again fly above Thedas from the Western Approach to the Amaranthine Ocean. Glory to Orlais! Glory to the Crown!</em>”</p><p>“Good. I like it. Send it away.”</p><p>The Marquise bowed and stepped again once more. Gaspard grinned. Now, the title of Vice-Roi de Ferelden was his to fill with power and take. With his victory on this day, the glory of his name would be spoken of everywhere in Thedas, and especially Val Royeaux. This moment was the first sentence in the tale of Empereur d’Orlais Gaspard le Grand.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was a bitch to write because I want to write about villains in a way that justifies giving them space in the narrative. I wanted this chapter to be an examination how chauvinistic propaganda deviates from the truth, how chauvinist act among each other, and how they assign power to each other. There is a misconception among the left that chauvinists are completely united, and that is simply not true. Yes, fascism is an alliance of many different forms of hatred, but they are far from united. They work together for more power and violence, yes, but just wait for opportunities to backstab each other. </p><p>I try not to write Journey's End, but as usual, it has left a deep impact on me to see what stories can be told in Thedas. So yeah, here's a chapter before the big battle where Gaspard proves once again to be an asshole.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Knightfall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Neimena's plan works out to the letter as the chevaliers are either taken captive or killed by the rebels. Imerati and Briala discuss the double-edged nature of political figureheads and the weight of battles in the larger concept of a revolution. Eventually, they convinve Neimena that they should join the ongoing battle together.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter discusses the violence of armed conflicts and describes a military encounter in graphic detail. It also contains graphic descriptions of an injury and pain and losing one's consciousness while having substained a major injury. Also, it touches upon the helplessness that occurs when visual impairment strikes without warning. It also mentions different stage of drunkenness, up to the point of being passed out. There are mentions of sex and puns about BDSM, but none really detailed.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 13th of Kingsway, two hours past midnight</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The strategic victory over Orlais that appeared more and more likely here was good news for the Dalish. That night, another step was taken on the arduous journey towards the freedom of her people. How long it would still be, she could not tell.</p><p>After she had received confirmation from the scouts and Gherlen that the enemy had completely taken the bait, Neimena had given the order for the assassins to take over the northernmost and most secluded of the camps now ripe with drunken, passed out and sleeping chevaliers. Everything had been almost exactly according to the plan she had devised seven weeks ago. Should the raid on the northernmost camp show that it all added up accordingly, she could mobilize all the reserves that currently guarded the trenches in front of the towns and settlements. She looked at the map and figurines in front of her. The Wardens at Setham up northwest would take four hours to reach the chevalier camps, whereas the soldiers from Highever near Ovenning up north would take three and the Wardens near Merething south of the imperial highway would only take two and a half hours. She had been aware from the beginning that if all went right, the units near Setham would be too far away to aid in the battle. The trenches had been strategically placed equally to distract and slow the chevaliers if the trap had not worked at all. Setham had a civilian population of over two hundred souls and would be too slow to be evacuated, and she could not have risked them being pillaged by the enemy if Gaspard had suddenly decided to swing up north after exiting the gorge.</p><p>Together with the Warden and Fereldan Command and the Army of the Mage Rebellion, her Dalish hunters had taken up their headquarters a mile west of Ethford, a small city with two thousand souls that lay close to the bridge that connected the imperial highway to each side of a short yet deep river running from Lake Calenhad to the Waking Sea. It was their actual camp, not like the ones the chevaliers had taken over. Planning the battle had meant carefully weighing risks for the civilian population as well as the soldiers under her command, and this current spot was a compromise between many factors to consider. It was at the easternmost parts of a half circle of small defense towers, trenches, tunnels, traps and patrols that had been arranged outside the gorge’s eastern exit. For the terrain full of steep hills and covered by sometimes hard to traverse, tall wild grass, their arrangement was incredibly close to an actual circle. While she had skimmed the topographical maps for a couple of minutes when she first developed the plan, she had noticed these regularities in the topography that had made this arrangement possible. It hadn’t been necessary to make an almost-perfect half circle, but the fact that it was possible had intrigued her too much to ignore it.</p><p>Captains Zevran and Asla Arainai entered the command tent together, saluting.  Both of them wore darkened leather armor over black linen and carried a pair of knives on their back. They had taken off their masks.</p><p>“General, it went marvelously!” began Asla.</p><p>“I’m glad to hear that and see that you are still in one piece.”</p><p>“Most of the chevaliers tried to resist, I am afraid. We killed one hundred and seventy-three of them. The rest surrendered or was completely passed out. We’ve taken fifty-two prisoners back with us, among them four chevaliers we assume are of special interest. Two shouted about being duke’s sons, one insisted his great aunt was the grand cleric of Ostwick, and the other wore armor so fancy that we concluded that he must be one of the wealthy ones.”</p><p>Neimena nodded. Her scouts’ reports had indicated around twenty-eight hundred chevaliers at the beginning of the battle. Now, that number had gone down to around twenty-one. It was time to start the main offensive. “Thank you, Asla, Zevran. Do you have any preference for your assignment now? You have free choice which of the three eastern camps you wish to go to next. They are all equally important, yet the easternmost of the three will most likely contain Gaspard, and I want him caught as soon as possible. The southern one is going be the assignment for the Army of the Mage Rebellion, after General Offmills insisted that a team of them want to participate in the fight and the scouts reported several chevaliers who are also closely associated with the order of seekers in that group. It will consist of twenty mages who still feel battle ready after the exhausting task upkeeping the illusion of the fog and the army. The northern one is going to be taken care of by a contingent of Wardens. Pick whichever one you’d like to support.”</p><p>Zevran grinned defensively and shrugged. “On the topic of exhausting tasks, I’ll take a nap for the next few hours, if that’s okay for you.”</p><p>Asla looked to Neimena, and Neimena nodded. Asla hugged Zevran. “I swear to leave some of them for you later, but it won’t be too many.”</p><p>Zevran grinned and kissed her. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”</p><p>Asla turned to Neimena. “I’ll support General Offmills, if that’s okay with you.”</p><p>“Absolutely. You can join them immediately, they should be departing this very moment.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Imerati grinned very widely.</p><p>Sapphia didn’t take it. “Is that laughter of yours directed at me, honey?”</p><p>“Maybe.” Imerati suppressed laughter. On Sapphia’s cheeks and lips were clear violet lip prints. “I’m sorry, but I apparently didn’t mix enough lyrium powder into my makeup today. It… stains.”</p><p>Sapphia rolled her eyes dramatically. “So I am officially marked with the royal anarchist violet as yours, huh?”</p><p>Imerati smiled warmly. “Your face now tells a story of you being a person whose closeness I thoroughly enjoy.”</p><p>Sapphia chuckled. “Then I’ll wear it with pride. May the last thing those chevaliers see be the brimming energy of mages freed from their shackles written into my face.  Besides, the other kisses you have given me today are covered up by the uniform, so I’ll keep the violet in my face as a publicly visible statement!”</p><p>She couldn’t help herself. Imerati blushed hard. “Thank you for everything, Sapphia. I… think you are really hot and beautiful and mesmerizing and your fierceness and loudness is admirable and your caring and determined role within the mage community is inspiring.”</p><p>“Shush or some might start to spread the rumor that we are in fact girlfriends!” laughed Sapphia.</p><p>“Would that rumor be false, though?”</p><p>Sapphia tilted her head. “Most people expect the term girlfriends to indicate romantic love. As much as I adore you, I don’t love you in that way.”</p><p>“How about explicitly calling it ‘aromantic girlfriends’?”</p><p>“I mean, there must be some way to announce to the world that I like to have sex with the Queen of Ferelden and that she is really cute and considerate in bed.”</p><p>“Sapphia, for the love of the Creators, please do not bring my title into this, I hate everything it implies.”</p><p>“How about ‘The Queen’s Top magic advisor’ but we make a really long pause before ‘magic’?”</p><p>“Oh Creators…”</p><p>“Well, you certainly can’t call this a Kingdom, can you? It’s more like queen sub, really…”</p><p>“You are insufferable, Sapphia Offmills.”</p><p>“Oh am I, Queen Imerati Surana of Ferelden?” Sapphia pulled Imerati into a tight embrace and kissed her passionately.</p><p> </p><p>After she had left Sapphia’s embrace, Imerati heard a familiar voice behind herself. “And I was this close to asking if you two would mind me joining in on the action.” Leliana stood there, in a chainmail-rich armor that was adorned with many Andrastian symbols. From a far, it was almost indistinguishable from the Grand Cleric’s robes Leliana wore on official occasions.</p><p>After a short moment, Sapphia nodded approvingly. “It truly speaks to the pluralistic momentum of this revolutionary alliance that it contains the one member of the Andrastian high clergy where I don’t mind that idea at all.”</p><p>“Same,” muttered Imerati under her breath.</p><p>“But your presence must indicate that we are to depart, Grand Cleric?” supposed Sapphia.</p><p>“So it is, General Offmills. General Neimena has given the order for the full attack.”</p><p>Imerati squinted. “A grand cleric fighting side to side with a bunch of apostates? Are we so much addicted to dramatic irony?”</p><p>Leliana nodded. “That and I have officially announced my support of your ban of the templar order in Ferelden. Having seekers cross the border is an attack against my word and my position. It is most wise to answer it in person.”</p><p>Imerati frowned. “I wish I could join both of you.”</p><p>“I understand that Neimena’s strategy is a bit like a game of Wicked Grace.” Leliana took Imerati’s hand into her own. “On the off-chance that your hand contains a Queen,” Leliana said while placing her other hand on Imerati’s cheek, “you hold onto her until the very last moment and only present her when she can no longer be beaten by a superior card.”</p><p>Imerati leaned closer to Leliana and kissed her.</p><p>Sapphia raised an eyebrow. “From a sheer conceptual perspective, that’s the weirdest flirt I’ve ever heard that also worked.”</p><p>Imerati laughed. “Have Leliana tell you the story of how we got together on the way to your target, believe me, there is a lot of space to improve upon the weirdness.”</p><p>Leliana pulled out a pocket watch and opened it. “We really need to go, General. I’m sure my accounts of how I fell in love with Imerati will prove entertaining.”</p><p>Imerati sighed and looked at those two beautiful women walking away at a fast pace. She adored them both and was thankful for every second she had spend and would still spend with them.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Imerati looked through the handheld brass telescope into the night sky, trying to name as many constellations as she could. She tried to take her mind of things by focusing on this task, but that attempt was doomed. Her mind always escaped her grasp and went back to the battle that was bound to happen. She was dissociating so much that she didn’t notice the woman sitting down next to her.</p><p>“What do you see in the stars?” Briala wondered.</p><p>Startled, Imerati dropped the telescope. Luckily for her, it fell unto the bench without much noise and without any damage. Imerati blushed.</p><p>“Pardon,…” “Sorry,…”</p><p>They had tried to speak at the same time and went silent again, looking at each other in the moonlight.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Briala tried again.</p><p>“And I don’t intend to make a fool of myself every time we meet each other, yet I seem to have missed that goal once again.”</p><p>“Rest assured that I have never thought you a fool, to the contrary.”</p><p>Imerati looked upward. “Regarding your question what I see in the stars, the answer depends on how much time you have. There are a lot of stars I see, but more than that, it is the act of looking at them that holds much weight for me. Despite its rotation during the year, the firmament is fixed in its constellations. Every age, there are stories of stars appearing for a few weeks, even visible for the daylight, but those vanish quickly. The constellations, may they be differently named by different cultures, are still the same. Choose a triangle of very bright stars and you can be assured that millennia ago, another soul noticed the same triangle. When I was still held captive in the circle and had the chance at night to look through a window, it was that thought that helped. Through the gaze upward, we are connected to all of history, all of the future, and millions of souls. Through stories about the stars, through descriptions of the constellations, common dreams, cultures using the stars as a means of navigation, all beings that are and have been can have a connection with each other. And the stars mean nighttime. There are less noises and less crowds at night. In the nights at the circle, many more templars slept than were awake. At night, I was safer.”</p><p>“You seemed to be quite tense for a moment that supposedly calms you.”</p><p>“Tense how?”</p><p>“You were tapping one foot at the ground with quite some frequency and intensity, and you grumbled under your breath. That is your typical reaction if something bugs you. You try to look at the stars, but the gaze of your mind is clearly fixed to something else.”</p><p>“You have known me for a month, how do you already know my habits? Is that a bard ability, to be able to instantly read people?”</p><p>“A month and four days and maybe I learned it as a bard, but maybe I also care about you and could quite clearly see that you were feeling unwell.”</p><p>Imerati sighed. “Don’t get me wrong, I knew that a battle like this was inevitable. I know that Gaspard had made his move even if a human male noble had taken the crown. It’s just… almost two hundred Wardens have died yesterday alone. I know that people are facing Orlesian blades as we speak. People are dying as we speak. For what?” She looked at Briala, yet broke off the eye contact. “Sapphia has told me that when the circle in Jainen fell, a group of mages stormed a templar barricade with…” She breathed out heavily. “With my honorific as a battle cry. Several of them died to templar arrows the next moment. Their last conscious decision was dedicated to the Heroine of Ferelden. To me. Or rather, to a form, an idea, forged from the concept of me. My individual existence itself has become a phrase of power in the right and wrong hands. People will die tonight because of me existing. There are people who would and will lay down their lives simply because I’ve ignited something in them. That can’t be just. That isn’t just. I never wanted…” She gulped. “I never wanted a single soul to die for my ideas. And now, two hundred are already dead, and more will die soon. How can I ever justify that?”</p><p>“You have made changes to Warden recruitment practices, haven’t you? You have made it entirely optional to be recruited. Your soldiers are here voluntarily. You have never chosen against their will, and that matters.”</p><p>“I’ve also chosen to allow all criminals that fled the authorities to join the Wardens to escape prosecution, because I believe that the criminal justice system is so inherently flawed that no existing punishment can be just. What about those? They who escaped the executioner’s block just to be killed at the front?”</p><p>“Neimena would have never sent people who didn’t know the risks and hadn’t consented. These people were prepared to die.”</p><p>“Why would they choose a path they know to make their death likely?”</p><p>“Because they believe in the ideas we are fighting for. They know that their sacrifice will keep many others more from meeting death prematurely.”</p><p>“And they see these ideas represented by me, yes?”</p><p>“Undeniably and as you described, yes. Your words and actions have given them hope, and that is one of the rarest and most valuable thing you can give a person next to food, medicine and shelter.”</p><p>“So why should they have to risk their lives for the ideas that I represent while I am here, just killing time?”</p><p>“Because we will win and we need you alive at the moment of our victory. In that moment, an elf will have triumphed over the best fighters the humans supposedly have to offer. A mage will have triumphed over those who walk under the templar banner. A vocal anti-noble will have triumphed over those who justify their actions as necessary to defend the nobility. You being alive in that moment will crack the façade of their world in a way they can never paint over. An elf will have risen from the shackles of the circles, looked into the eyes of the Orlesian leadership and stared them down. You being alive at that moment will ultimately prove that elves and humans are not by any will of nature not seeing eye to eye. You being alive will be a testament to the injustice of the way things are and the justice that can equally be created. We cannot risk losing you.”</p><p>“If I order others to go to their potential deaths while I am not under the same jeopardy, that is a position of power I neither can nor want to take, Briala.”</p><p>“You are not ordering them, they are choosing to follow a suggestion. That is a tremendous difference.”</p><p>“If they supposedly have a choice, why am I not offered the same choice?”</p><p>Briala had to think for a second. “Do you think that showing them the potential this world has obligated you to fight in the same way as them? There are some community leaders who can’t fight as well as the souls in their community. If someone who is too weak to wield a blade advises the ones around them to resist, would you consider them hypocritical? Do not fall under the illusion that a revolution is just made by the ones wielding weapons. There are the ones that take up arms, yes. But there are also the cooks in the mess halls. There are the healers, both magic and herbal. The horsemasters. The ones who offer emotional support. The smiths. The spies. The ones who keep track of provisions and supply lines. The messengers. The engineers and woodworkers. The scribes. The ones who keep weapons and clothes and armors clean. The suppliers. And, the ones who give people hope and determination. Those are all the tasks of the community, and each one is necessary and can’t be removed without massive damage to the rest. Do not think your contribution insignificant just because you are not currently spilling blood. You are extremely important for this movement, just as much as any soldier, and you are not obligated to anything. We need you to be safe at this moment. I need you to stay safe at this moment.”</p><p>Briala had talked herself into such a determined and sure tone, and  Imerati couldn’t find the right words to answer. Imerati wanted to tell Briala how much she admired her, how much Briala mattered to her.  But fuck, it was so hard to formulate a reaction she felt to be adequate.</p><p>Briala’s eyes suddenly went into an alarmed state. “I hope I wasn’t too aggressive. <em>Pardon, je ne</em>… I didn’t mean to interfere in your decisions or thoughts, I just…”</p><p>“You are correct in your assessment of this movement. I understand why you feel this way when you assert your opinion, and it is an understandable reaction of your psyche to what you have experienced. But you needn’t feel anxious telling me your opinion. I value it greatly.”</p><p>Briala looked down and sighed. “I am sorry that I often forget that you are not Celene. I am sorry for the comparison…” Her voice broke.</p><p>“You need not feel obligated to apologize. After what you have been through, it is a normal reaction to suspect the danger to lurk everywhere. And if you never truly trust that my presence isn’t the danger you have been in for so long, that’s fine as well. You are not responsible for the traumatic events you went through. You are not responsible for your psychological or physical reaction to that trauma, either.”</p><p>Briala breathed in and out loudly, then focused on the conversation again. “If you see my point, why are you so concerned about joining the battle?”</p><p>“There are good people out there fighting. I can’t just do nothing and sit here idly. For crying out loud, I said goodbye to a woman I love so deeply that words elude me trying to describe it. I kissed two women I admire and care for deeply goodbye. They are out there, risking their lives for a war my words and actions have provoked. I could lose two of the women I feel so deeply connected to, women I find equally mesmerizing and inspiring. The only solace I have is that the third one is currently sitting next to me, safe and secure.” Wait. Wait a second. Why did she say that. Why the fuck did she say that part out loud. Why can she dismiss dozens of possible answers but then drop a thought that should not be spoken out aloud. Why did she have too many and too few filters at the same time…</p><p>“I suspect you have already dismissed the idea of ignoring Neimena’s battle plan and just go there anyway?” Was Briala ignoring what Imerati just revealed out of courtesy or out of dismissal? Did she even catch it? No, she had been trained as a bard, she surely… Oh. She was expecting an answer.</p><p>“Y… yes.”</p><p>“Did you ask her if it was completely unthinkable for you to join the battle?”</p><p>“What… Wait… weren’t you against me fighting just a second ago?”</p><p>Briala looked at her and Imerati was just too gay to read that expression. A pause followed. Imerati hadn’t seen Briala struggling to find the right words that often before.</p><p>“You want to risk everything to see the ones you love back to safety quicker. I’ve lived in a world in which love and attraction were mostly convenient and effective lies for too long. To dismiss true love like the one you have for Leliana or attraction as strong as the one you have for Sapphia... it feels wrong to keep you from following your heart. I still need you to survive this battle, that’s why I’d ask Neimena if there’s any way we two can ride into the fight together.”</p><p>“I won’t have you risk your life as well.”</p><p>“Imerati, there are two thirds of the chevaliers that roam the streets of Halamshiral present in the battle tonight. I have an individual score to settle with each single one of them.”</p><p>“You don’t have to accompany me for that. Just give Neimena a list of names and she’ll make sure those men meet their end.”</p><p>“I can’t have you die after what we mean to accomplish. Me joining your side is my condition for helping you convince Neimena that this makes sense. Or would my presence make you so uncomfortable that you’d reconsider your stance on fighting tonight?” Briala grinned at her.</p><p>Imerati blushed and looked down, flustered. “I… Okay… That’s… entirely unfair… You know that I like you… How are you always so good with words?”</p><p>Briala’s smile hinted at a hidden pain. “It comes with the territory. Come, we should talk to Neimena.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Neimena shrugged. “Of course, I can see how the collective esprit de corps might be enhanced by the Queen joining the battlefield, but that’s a quite low reward for risking everything we have build so far.”</p><p>“She’s a veteran of the Fifth Blight. I think she can handle herself well in a battle. Besides, didn’t she fight back at Fort Drakon under your command?” Imerati stood to the side of the command tent, feeling a bit awkward seeing a conversation unfold about her while she didn’t participate. Yet, it was a good opportunity to once again marvel at Briala’s negotiation skills.</p><p>“Velanna trusted exactly one other mage that was in that camp and ready to fight, and it was Imerati. Besides, she wasn’t the Queen yet at the Second Battle of Fort Drakon. Her presence now is a collective marker of purpose and determination. We need her here, among the soldiers, to stand as a for her ideals.”</p><p>“You can’t just keep her here and expect her not to radiate anxiousness and doubt into the soldiers’ minds while her girlfriends are out there, fighting. If you want her to be the living breathing banner of this movement, then carry her to the front.”</p><p>“Do you think that one can simply make significant changes to military strategy based on who is currently separated from their girlfriends?”</p><p>“I’ve heard the story of a general who planned her first major battle around very unpredictable and potentially situationally useless magic just to invite her girlfriend to fight at her side.” Briala smiled at Neimena, a smile of triumph in negotiation that Imerati knew was commonplace in Val Royeaux and all halls of power. It was, that much was certain, not the smile Briala gave Imerati.</p><p>“It is significantly too late to join up with the Army of the Mage Rebellion, even if Halla carried you. They’ll be far off by now. Same goes for the Sixth Warden Division.”</p><p>“Yes, you planned to make a pincer maneuver to cut off all possible routes that Gaspard could take to flee to pin him down. That also means the main attack force is held back until the AMR and Wardens have had a head start to complete their objectives.”</p><p>Neimena sighed. “Who am I to deny that Mythal is the most powerful of the Creators. All right. I can’t force you to stay here, can I? However, the forces are departing as we speak, I’m afraid Imerati will have to hurry putting on her new armor.” There had been some debate in their alliance leadership whether or not the decoy that was to convince Gaspard that Imerati was dead should wear the actual armor of King Cailan. While they carefully searched for a sick elf that would consent to posthumously play that role, some wanted to save the dragonbone armor and just create a facsimile. Imerati had unilaterally chosen that method acting sometimes calls for unique measures. Using King Cailan’s armor for the decoy also meant that she had switched to a new one made to her taste.</p><p>“If I am correct, Irassal is faster than your average horse. She can get us to the camp with the same arrival time as the main strike force, even if they have a head start.”</p><p>“Allright. I’ll inform the commander of the strike force. And Imerati, may I have a word?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>Neimena pointed her outstretched palm towards the tent entrance. They went outside and found a quiet spot some steps away from the command area.</p><p> </p><p>Neimena looked at Imerati with concern. “We need to show Thedas an elven queen prevailing over Orlais. This night is a major step towards freeing the Dales, but that hinges strongly on the survival of this queen. See that this military victory doesn’t become a political tragedy, will you?”</p><p>Imerati smiled. “I’ll have capable company to protect me.”</p><p>“Try to take your eyes off Briala and focus on the chevaliers’ swords until the battle is over.”</p><p>Imerati blushed. “That’s… entirely fair, yes.”</p><p>Neimena looked upwards, towards the bright crescent moon in the sky. “I also worry about Briala. Losing one queen would set us back many steps, as is.”</p><p>“She’d make a perfect Bellrenan,” Imerati agreed. “Do you really think it such a bad idea that we join the strike force together?”</p><p>Neimena sighed and shook her head. “Your first relationship grew while forging an alliance from the ground up to win a war in which you were sometimes the only ones resisting the enemy. I cannot fault you for this current decision. Neither can I fault Briala for seeking your closeness in this rather unique way. You are to each other a positive influence, and I know you well enough to be certain that you will treat her with care. She has been through a lot in her life, and it may take some time until she may feel emotionally safe enough to seek the same kind of romantic involvement that you yearn for.”</p><p> “Yeah, I know, I know.” Imerati blushed. “Do you think… that I should stop feeling that way?”</p><p>Neimena raised an eyebrow. “You can’t stop love, Imerati. And you shouldn’t try. For seven hundred years, the chantry and Orlais have tried to break our emotions and our spirits. What in the Dales was accepted as love and desire and attraction is now at the edge of human society, at best entertainment for the nobles. Our struggle, our fight needs to step out of the boundaries of thought set so narrowly by human hegemony. Yes, I could order both of you to stay here, treat you as political figures on a chess board. However, this is the philosophy that we are fighting. I know you are individuals, I know you seek warmth and love, and I am willing to risk the future of our movement for your autonomy. When we stop caring about the contents of our hearts, we risk far more than the specific current progress we’ve made so far.”</p><p>“From the bottom of my heart: Thank you, ma falon.”</p><p>“Stay safe out there, ma falon. Keep her and yourself safe, whatever happens.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>“May I ask you a favor?” Imerati looked towards Briala via the tall mirror in front of her.</p><p>“Of course,” Briala said, taking a step closer.</p><p>“There’s a buckle behind the pauldron I can’t seem to reach. Could you please fasten it for me?”</p><p>Briala stepped a bit closer still and reached for the buckle behind the largely aesthetic nevarrite pauldron. “This one?”</p><p>She was as so close to Imerati that Imerati could feel her breath softly touching her neck. Imerati shivered ever so slightly. Were she to turn around her head now, their lips could meet with ease…</p><p>“And done!” As Imerati regained her focus, Briala stepped back. Both looked into the mirror.</p><p>The armor was cut to look like the typical Warden Mage attire. Imerati wore knee-high black leather boots and pants made of king’s willow weave, as light and shining as gold-infused silk. Her black leather belt was quite large, carrying many pockets and a sheathe for a small dagger. Above, she wore a gambeson made out of great bear leather, colored in violet. Above that, encompassing the shoulders and her arms, a sturdy combination of layered king’s willow weave and vertical stripes of nevarrite chainmail were most reminiscent of the classical Warden armors, yet not in the typical Warden light blue, but in her signature purple-gold. On her right shoulder was the largely aesthetic Warden Griffon in the form of a nevarrite emblem. She liked the deep purple of the nevarrite that contained a higher ratio of red than the shade of violet she wore as a lipstick. Her favorite thing about the armor was the wide, large collar and the narrow cape of king’s willow weave that widened a bit the lower it got. The cape was the only indication of status that one could interpret into that armor, and she had only requested it because it flowed very nicely and dynamically when she moved or the wind blew.</p><p>Imerati spun around multiple times to make the cape flow. It was the same joy she felt when wearing a dress and feeling the freedom of the cloth when she spun in circles. As she suddenly stopped spinning, a bit of nausea set in, yet that was a side effect she was willing to accept. “So, how do I look in it?”</p><p>Briala’s gaze seemed to wander around the armor and then focused on Imerati’s face. “I would assume that you have a rather tense relationship with the concept of ‘regality’?”</p><p>Imerati’s gaze met Briala’s. “Yeah…” she whispered softly.</p><p>“Then let me just remark that you look as beautiful as ever. This armor fits much more tightly to your frame, a compliment Cailan’s armor was never capable of. Violet truly is your color.”</p><p>Imerati blushed heavily and tried to look away. Briala stepped closer to her and pressed her hand. “I’ll change, too. Meet me outside at the halla fields in five minutes.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>When she arrived at the halla fields, Irassal was there, neighed softly and looked at her.</p><p>“She’ll be here shortly, don’t worry.”</p><p>Two short neighs followed.</p><p>Imerati sighed, took off her staff from her back and held herself upward, supporting herself with the staff. “You know, Irassal, I really love her and I don’t know what to do about that.”</p><p>Irassal exhaled loudly.</p><p>“Yeah. I am aware her trauma runs deep. I am aware that after Celene’s bullshit, she’ll have every reason to distrust the concept of a relationship. She has such a beautiful soul, and it as so deeply disturbed by the farce of the nobles. You know, Irassal, I despised the Orlesian monarchy, but now I <em>hate</em> it. I want to destroy the Palais Royeaux brick by brick, wall by wall, I want to throw fireballs into the Orlesian throne until it has melted into a puddle, I want to crush every piece of the Orlesian regalia into fine pieces. Take la Couronne Impériale and melt it down into a puddle of glowing hot metal and let it just seep into the ground…”</p><p>“Not a bad idea in concept, but it would have a poor effect on the local plant life, I am afraid.” That was Briala’s voice. Directly behind Imerati. Oh no. How much did she hear…</p><p>“I am… incredibly sorry you… had to witness my rant…” Imerati’s voice cracked a bit and she didn’t wish to turn around.</p><p>“You needn’t apologize for anything. I was only able to make out the last two sentences anyhow. What makes you so furious towards Orlais?”</p><p>“The Orlesian Empire has destroyed and scarred so much, so much culture, so much happiness, so many souls. It is so incredibly unjust. It is simply a perpetuated machine spewing out violence, onto every new generation, and has no reason to exist.” Imerati paused. “I must admit that my thoughts regarding Orlais are set aflame every time anew when I think of what you have told me about Orlais. That love corrodes to a toxic lie in the noble halls…” Imerati broke off and stared down.</p><p>Briala stepped around her. “Some get incredibly lucky and are able to find love. The Duke de Ghislain and the Court Enchanter are very sweet together, and everybody was able to see that their love was honest. But even those few cases don’t detract from the poison that fills the halls of Val Royeaux. And it seeps down. So many loves among the servants were torn apart by noble cruelty…” Briala stopped and took both of Imerati’s hands into hers. “But that is what we are here to change tonight, isn’t it?”</p><p>Imerati looked up, towards the woman so close to her. She was wearing a thin, very tightly fitting light blue shirt in dark blue and black trousers, similarly thin, and black leather boots that went to the middle of her lower legs. The extremely thin weave of the material was hard to see in this light and with Imerati’s tired eyes…</p><p>“It’s halla wool, if you are wondering. It’s a gift Clan Revanadas gave to me a few days ago.”</p><p>“It is beautiful…” Imerati remarked.</p><p>“I never felt any cloth so warm and soft at the same time,” Briala nodded. “And, as you offered, I had some equipment customized by Warden blacksmiths.” She let go of Imerati’s hands and unsheated two narrow daggers about the size of her forearm from their sheaths on her belt. The moonlight glistened gold from the one and purple from the other. “Volcanic aurum and nevarrite. It is quite obvious that I am a part of this movement now, it was about time I joined in on the color scheme.” Briala smiled.</p><p>“Nevarrite steel should be more durable than silverite, and especially be less prone to corrosion. It’s good you switched out the old silverite ones for ones that will stay sharp longer,” Imerati remarked.</p><p>The smile on Briala’s face was ambiguous, and Imerati could not clearly assign any meaning to it. “That is one of the reasons I chose the new ones, yes. Shall we go? The battle will not wait for us.”</p><p> </p><p>This time, riding on the halla together, Imerati did not feel like she made Briala uncomfortable by being this close to her. For most of her life, people around Imerati had acted like she was a problem. Briala, that much Imerati had begun to realize, did not. Briala had begun to look past the elvish Queen of Ferelden as an opportunity for social change and noticed Imerati just as an individual. No, it was even more: Briala had begun to accept Imerati as a friend, and that meant everything to Imerati. Acceptance was a seldom reaction to Imerati’s presence.</p><p>Within an hour and fifteen minutes, they arrived at their destination. Between the hills, palisades cut off an area from which some sounds indicated festivities.Orlais had taken and swallowed the bait whole. Imerati, at this point, wasn’t surprised that the plan Neimena had developed weeks ago had worked out down to a couple of days of travel time expectations. Briala and Imerati waited at the eastern of the hills, as they arrived before the main strike force.</p><p>Imerati glanced to Briala. Divine Mythal, even in the moonlight dimmed by clouds, Imerati could see Briala’s eyes scanning their surroundings, her mind occupied with finding strategies and working through scenarios. Imerati adored this combination of a strong sense of community and autonomy and care for others and the will to do everything to see those values formed into reality. The restlessness in doing the right thing. And Briala looked so incredibly beautiful, not only in her determination, but in the ways she moved her body as another channel of expression, in the way she commanded language, in the ways she communicated with others. And Imerati noticed that one strand of curly hair had left the bun in which Briala had arranged them and fallen close to her eyes. She couldn’t just tuck it back behind Briala’s ear, that would be an invasive gesture given that they hadn’t been this close and hadn’t communicated boundaries in touching and gentleness. Should she tell Briala? No, Briala had better things to do, clearly. Creators, was it wrong to feel a need to be closer to Briala? To want to touch her, hear her heartbeat, play with her hair, stroke her cheeks, tell her how much she loved and appreciated her…</p><p>“Are you nervous, Imerati?”</p><p>“Hmmmh? Ah uh, uh, no.” Imerati Surana, famous Warden speechwriter, at your service.</p><p>“The key to our people’s future is within our grasp. The path your actions has paved has brought us this close.” Briala’s smile was wide and full of hope and directed at Imerati.</p><p>“Hmm, I really did not much. I simply rant a bit every day and some people take that as a sign to follow their dreams and rise up. I am happy this is an effect my words have, but I truly don’t think I deserve any credit for it. It’s easy to describe why the status quo sucks, because it is self-evident. I don’t really do that much. This movement formed itself, all it took was a concrete common goal.”</p><p>Did Briala’s smile get warmer all of the sudden? Oh Creators, how the fuck was Imerati supposed to fight under these conditions? “Imerati, speaking the truth that many people can’t find the words for is an incredibly important revolutionary action in itself. You do more than you realize.”</p><p>Imerati couldn’t catch a single of the thousands of thoughts running through her head. It was at times like these she wondered if there would ever be a world where a person like her could just exist, left alone and protected while being so overwhelmed with emotions. Would the legacy of her people be to fight forever, never be completely safe, always knowing that somewhere, lethal danger was lurking? Would there ever be a generation of women like her that just could grow up with access to the medicine Meravas had developed, just as much girls as the others, free to live and interact with others, being safe and cared for? Could there be a world where she just existed alongside the women she loved, and if so, how many ages what that world away? A world where she could hold this exchange of gazes Briala and her were engaging in, free of concern what came afterwards…</p><p> </p><p>“Commander, Mademoiselle, I apologize that we are so late,” a voice behind Imerati whispered. It was almost a loud whisper, for the man speaking those words seemed to want to speak at the same time to reach everyone in a five-mile radius and at the same time to not be louder than the ticking of Imerati’s pocket watch.</p><p>Imerati sighed and turned around. “No problem. I wasn’t aware that Neimena send you to lead the main strike force, but I am relieved to hear that you are here to assist us.”</p><p>Matthian bowed. He was wearing a normal Warden lieutenant armor, except that that the metal plating was made from onyx and the blackened steel helmet he wore featured a plume with violet and yellow strains. The rest of the Wardens accompanying him seemed to wear similarly armor made from blackened steel or onyx.</p><p>“One day, you have to tell me the secret of how you got so much equipment and so few soldiers,” whispered Briala into Imerati’s ear.</p><p>“Easy,” Imerati whispered back, “the nobles of Ferelden were overjoyed at the end of the blight and instead of sending the Wardens political power or changing their system of governance, they send token gifts like precious armors crafted by their favorite blacksmiths or resources from their territory. That means we are almost overequipped, a burden I would assume many military commanders yearn for.”</p><p>Matthian unequipped a steel Warden shield from his back. “I would assign some units to a pincer maneuver from the west, but we are already too few as is, as the reserves will stay behind and make their move once there are prisoners to transport.”</p><p>Imerati didn’t hesitate. “We can do that. Briala and I, I mean.”</p><p>Briala raised an eyebrow, but then nodded. “Possible indeed.”</p><p>Matthian tilted his head. “I mean, you are a veteran of the fifth Blight, Commander, fighting some drunk chevaliers can’t be as hard as defeating the Archdemon, can it?”</p><p>Ah, yes, her graceful show of courage at the First Battle of Fort Drakon. Very much a testament to her fighting skills. A battle where she spent half the time drinking healing potions due to the heat of the Archdemon’s flames hurting her a lot and about a quarter running from ballista to ballista, firing bolts at the Archdemon. Truly marvelous. “I can handle myself, Matthian.”</p><p>“All right. Good luck, Commander.”</p><p> </p><p>It took Briala and Imerati fifteen minutes to reach the top of the other hill. Laying down in the grass, they looked down upon maybe a hundred and fifty tents of different sizes. Close to their position was the royal tent of Ferelden. Imerati had laughed for a good ten seconds when she had first heard that a fucking tent was part of the Fereldan regalia and had immediately wanted to use it as part of the bait. There were several braziers and open fires burning, and Imerati could see people moving in that light.</p><p>“What is your plan?” asked Briala.</p><p>“Plan?” reacted Imerati in full honesty.</p><p>“You suggested we do this alone. I assume you have a plan on how to proceed?”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“Why, then, did you suggest it so firmly?”</p><p>Imerati sighed. “Listen, I wanted to spend some time with you and my brain just went there… I am so sorry.”</p><p>Briala smiled and took Imerati’s hand, pressing it once for reaffirmation. “Then may I voice some thoughts?”</p><p>“You need not ask, I love hearing both your voice and your thoughts.”</p><p>“Our priority is Gaspard. We need to find him. Given the state of things, he’d be a valuable prisoner. We could, once we have caught him, make his trial an occasion to call the Arlathvhen and this time, invite representatives of the city elves. It would be a perfect opportunity to create a common platform in which we can see all the voices of the many elven communities represented, a first step to the freedom of the Dales as a collective project.”</p><p>“I really love the way you are thinking,” mumbled Imerati softly.</p><p>“Thank you. I’d assume Gaspard is near the Royal Command Tent, given that he will most likely aim to install himself as Viceroi de Ferelden next. I say we sneak in, use some means to incapacitate him and then see where to go from there.”</p><p>Imerati was still focused on Briala’s hand. Would it be appropriate to start stroking Briala’s hand with her thumb now… “Uhm… Yes. Sounds good.”</p><p> </p><p>They slowly descended the hill towards the back of a row of tents a hundred steps or so from their goal. While sneaking towards the position of the royal tent, Imerati had to step over a passed-out chevalier. It was so dark that she could barely see where her foot went. She once again remarked in the back of her head to look for a healer that can tell her what was wrong with her eyes when she got tired and added that it was urgent because, in the shadows, she had little idea where she was stepping. It always happened suddenly in the dark and at night that suddenly, her eyes disfocused to almost a maximum. Why exactly did that happen so suddenly? And that thought marked the moment she tripped on a chevalier’s hand and fell down.</p><p>It wasn’t faceplanting in the dark that hurt that much. She had outstretched her hands before falling and managed to haphazardly catch the fall, making it only hurt a bit around her ankles and shoulder. Two things were more important than the pain: Firstly, the major embarrassment of tripping in front of your crush, and secondly, that the chevalier had jumped up, cursing for a second and trying to regain his consciousness. Imerati sighed. Stealth had truly never been her specialty.</p><p>Before he could have done anything else, Briala’s dagger had sliced through the chevalier’s throat. In the meantime, Imerati stumbled back on her feet.</p><p>Briala looked at her. “Are you hurt?” she whispered.</p><p>Imerati shook her head. “Only my dignity.”</p><p>“We’re almost there. Do you think you can make it or do you want to turn back?”</p><p>“I promise you, I won’t jeopardize the mission again.”</p><p>“I’m not afraid about the state of the mission.”</p><p>“I’ll be fine, I promise you.”</p><p>Briala took Imerati’s hand. “I can guide you, should your eyesight worsen.”</p><p>Imerati blushed. “I don’t think it can get worse. I’d… I’d be most grateful if you guided me a bit, until some light returns and my eyes readjust.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>The rest of the way went well. Briala whispered descriptions and obstacles here and there and Imerati trusted the hand that guided her. Soon, they were in an area where a large fire lit up the surrounding objects that weren’t engulfed in shadow. They hid behind a tent, listening to the voices shouting and singing. Imerati rubbed her eyes, trying to get them to refocus. It went poorly, as she could only see high-contrast objects as vague spots. Something about the nights and sleeplessness really made them lose their functionality.</p><p>“Is it getting better?” There was genuine and sweet concern in Briala’s voice.</p><p>“Not really,” Imerati whispered. “Can you tell me what is happening?”</p><p>“There is a big fire in front of the Royal Command Tent, consisting of Fereldan banners and flags. Around it are Gaspard on the Fereldan Throne, the High Chancellor of the Chantry, the Chevaliers de Pourrin, Reinfort, and Chiray, the Marquise de Val Chemin, the Marquis de Lesvre, and the Heiress-Apparent to the Chevan Territories” Briala remarked in a tense voice.</p><p>“Important players?” Imerati guessed.</p><p>“Yes, certainly, but also… half of them are confidants of Celene. Something is not right here.”</p><p>“Is anyone of those capable of suppressing magic?”</p><p>“Not to my knowledge. Chiray had onced proudly proclaimed that he had accompanied some Seekers in successful hunts on Apostates, but that’s it.” Ah. Charming. “I don’t know how we can apprehend Gaspard without him fleeing.”</p><p>“I could just freeze Gaspard with the flick of my staff. It is not precisely lethal, just greatly unpleasant, and I don’t think that is our most immediate priority.”</p><p>“And then battle the rest? Do you think that is wise when you can’t make them out clearly?”</p><p>“First of all, they are probably quite drunk right now. And secondly, I do not see nothing, just barely anything. It might even be a fair fight.”</p><p>“This isn’t about fair battles, it is about setting injustices right.”</p><p>Imerati didn’t know how to react. That was the harshest tone Briala had ever used towards her…</p><p>“Pardon. I’m just worried.”</p><p>“I promise you, I’ll be fine.”</p><p>Briala sighed. “Can you make out Gaspard?”</p><p>Imerati concentrated and leaned past the edge of the tent. Looking at the scene, there was a glimmering gold blob roughly in the shape of a square. On that blob was a shape in a darker gold, moving ever so slightly.</p><p>“If he’s the gold with the extra gold, yeah.”</p><p>“He is wearing a golden armor, the only one to do so, and is sitting on the golden throne.”</p><p>“Works out.”</p><p>“Good. Give me two minutes to get into position on the other side and then begin freezing Gaspard and as many as you can catch.”</p><p>“Okay.”</p><p>It went well at first. While freezing spells affecting entire bodies were hard to do in quick succession, given the state of her mind, she still managed to get three of them before their confusing went away and they ran towards her, screaming. She cast a stone fist to fly into their general direction. Where was Briala? Imerati reached inside her mind, into her stream of consciousness, and focused on externalizing the flow. The mind blast made several of the chevaliers fly backwards. If Briala was somewhere here, Imerati could not risk lethal fighting methods. Imerati managed to freeze one more of the shapes that she had knocked backwards. Then, something blunt and coldly metallic hit her face.</p><p> </p><p>She tasted blood. Her nose hurt like fire. Her head spun, and she barely had any sense of up and down. The first new thing she could feel was that apparently, her feet and lower torso were on the ground, and the ground was moving. No – she was moving. Being dragged. By her collar. And then, the force on her collar let go, and, after a short moment absolved from gravity and concern, her neck and head crashed down heavily.</p><p>It hurt. A lot. She tried to stay awake. Really hard. Focused on clear thoughts. Every breath hurt. Clear thoughts. Her eyes needed to stay shut. Clear thoughts. So much pain. Some noises. Words. Words spoken. Out loud. Orlesian curses.</p><p>“… so I declared you dead, rabbit. Why are you alive? You have ruined everything!”</p><p>She opened her eyes. There was... a person? standing in front of her, clothed vaguely silvery. And with an object in hand? Behind that person was the fucking royal tent, that much she could tell from contrast and colors around her. Besides them were… other blobs… more people?</p><p>The person audibly tensed up. “I hunt rabbits like you for sport. I know how defend myself against your kind of maleficar. You call yourself king? Here, watch this!”</p><p>The person took something from a few steps behind her. Fire? A burning log? And threw it towards the tent. The flames became a bigger and more sparkly blob almost instantaneously.</p><p>“This is your kingdom! Burning in flames, ash in another form!”</p><p>Imerati blinked. Was he… trying to make a point? By burning regalia? When it came to destroying royal symbols, she definitely had a head start of at least three points. However, the “ash in another form” was somewhat creative, Imerati thought to herself. Clear thoughts to counter the pain…</p><p>A loud cry and blinking dots in purple and gold appeared behind the chevalier. Some red joined the scene. Blobs and dots were moving quickly, yet the purple and gold blinked faster. Someone sat down besides her. Not someone. It was a voice Imerati had come to love. Imerati closed her eyes and breathed out. Pain. A lot of pain.</p><p>“Imerati!” Briala cried out in fear. “Say something!”</p><p>Imerati reached out to the Fade and heard voices calling her name, a pull like floating downwards on a river…</p><p>And then pressure. Warm, firm. Very firm. Around her fingers. A familiar touch. Imerati remembered what she was here for. She rejected the Fade’s sweet embrace and pulled on the forms and symmetries around her, abstracted them, and with all her power, pulled them and herself into the reality she knew.</p><p>The harmony flowed through her body, it hurt like ice, especially in her face. And suddenly, a lot of thoughts rushed into her head.</p><p>It was fall. And night, judging by the black sky above. She could feel her entire face hurt, but not the tip of her nose. She was on cold ground. Her mouth tasted like iron. No, like blood. She forced more harmony into her eyes and face. It dulled out the pain a bit. And now she realized that Briala was kneeling next to her, tears in dropping from her face, soft cries coming from her mouth.</p><p> </p><p>Imerati pulled her facial muscles to a smile. “Guess… that… wasn’t two… minutes…”</p><p>Briala stopped crying, abruptly. “It was less than a minute!”</p><p>Imerati laughed, which hurt a lot, despite the healing spells. “I… should have…” Another healing spell. Less pain, at least a bit, still, a lot. She felt her senses returning to her extremities, many nerves absolutely overloaded. “I should have warned you that I have a poor sense of time passing…” she whispered.</p><p>“How much does it hurt? How can I help?”</p><p>“It hurts… like my nose was just inverted…” Imerati paused. “Can you help me… stand up?”</p><p>Briala helped her to sit upright, her arms on the height of Imerati’s shoulders. Imerati focused, and with strong support from Briala, managed to get on her feet.</p><p>“What… the fuck did that… guy do to my… face…” Imerati breathed heavily as Briala helped her stumble to a nearby chair.</p><p>“That was the Chevalier de Pourrin,” Briala spoke as if the name itself was an insult, “and his favorite weapon, a full steel axe. He has killed many of our people in Val Royeaux’ alienage.”</p><p>“Well… then I am glad… to not have met the business-end of his axe…” Imerati had not yet felt shock setting in. Had shock already set in?</p><p>“Nobody will ever meet the business-end of his axe ever again,” Briala added grimly. “It would also appear that you were… a bit over-eager with freezing Gaspard, given that he broke in two, not that I am complaining. But we’ll have to find another way to unite our people.”</p><p>Several people appeared besides them, judging from their voices, the Wardens. It would seem the battle had gone well.</p><p>The voice of Matthian gasped. “What happened to you, Commander?”</p><p>“Slight… injuries, that is all…”</p><p>Briala shook her head. “I trust your team can take it from here, lieutenant?”</p><p>“Of course, mademoiselle!”</p><p>“Then I’ll accompany Imerati back to the main camp. She needs a healer.”</p><p>Reaching towards his belt, Matthian unbuckled something and handed it to Briala. “That’s the last healing potion I have.”</p><p>“Good. Make sure you secure the prisoners well. The camp should be pretty void of any enemy in fighting shape by now.”</p><p>Matthian stepped away, giving orders to his soldiers. Briala turned towards Imerati and offered her the vial with the healing potion. “Can you hold this?”</p><p>Imerati looked upon her hands. They seemed to be shaking a lot. Ah, there was the shock. “Not… really.”</p><p>“Would you mind if I…”</p><p>“Not at... all.”</p><p>Briala held the vial to Imerati’s mouth and tilted it. Her fingers were almost touching Imerati’s chin. Imerati drank in small gulps, while Briala took the vial away between them so Imerati could breathe. It was quite apparent that this was a powerful potion. Imerati felt her scars close up almost immediately and any remaining bleeding cease.</p><p>“So much for wanting to join the battle because you believe you are endangering your girlfriends!” Briala exclaimed after Imerati had finished the vial.</p><p>“I mean… now I have experienced the same danger as the people fighting under my banner.”</p><p>“Most people fighting under your banner, with that much trouble seeing, would have seen an ophthalmologist before going into battle.”</p><p>“I know. It’s on my to do list.”</p><p>Briala sighed and sat down, leaning against the side of the chair Imerati was sitting on. “Not really equal danger for you and your troops, is it; you might be the only one injured at this stage of the battle.”</p><p>“Well, most soldiers don’t have access to high quality healing potions. Most soldiers aren’t prioritized when laying injured on the battlefield. And most soldiers aren’t protected by an extremely competent, ridiculously blade-proficient, indescribably beautiful woman who just saved my life.”</p><p>Briala tilted her head. “Did you just turn a philosophical discussion into a flirt?”</p><p>Imerati giggled. “I’m allowed to do that, my brain has been thoroughly shaken.”</p><p>Briala sighed. “Come, we need to get back to the camp and get a healer who can heal your broken nose.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The "Imerati can suddenly not see that much during an important event at night" point is brought to you by my eyes suddenly refusing to work at a protest I attended some weeks ago. Luckily, there was no violence involved, just me having to constantly ask the people around me where we were and where we were going and having to link arms with someone.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chivalry is dead</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The legions surrender. The alliance of revolutionaries and freedom fighters has won Ferelden. The Empress of Orlais and the Divine of the Andrastian Chantry meet the revolutionary leadership to discuss their terms. Briala and Imerati spend a night in the woods, discussing the Dales, trauma, visions and love.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Content note: This chapter discusses a toxic relationship, emotional manipulation and the trauma that comes with it. It briefly mentions the aftermath of a military encounter, but not in much detail.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 13th of Kingsway, nine hours past midnight</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“The legions are sending their representatives to discuss the terms of their surrender as we speak. For the first time in four centuries, our people have the power to see eye to eye with the entirety of Orlais,” Neimena announced. “I thank you all for the trust you have put into my plan.”</p><p>The final reports had been trickling in for the last minutes, all confirming the larger picture. One thousand and three hundred chevaliers, dignitaries, dukes, counts, and seekers had been caught or had surrendered. While the battle in the gorge had killed over six hundred chevaliers, almost one thousand and one hundred had been killed in the battles during the night. Only a couple dozen had fled.</p><p>“Taking a look at the numbers…” Josephine began. “We just eliminated a fourth of the players of the game. Given how many of them are the sole heirs and heiresses to key positions and important offices whose current owners are elderly … I’d argue we’ll see years of infighting and vacancies and power vacuums in Orlais.”</p><p>Neimena raised an eyebrow towards Josephine. “Yes, we have handed the Orlesian nobility a defeat that it will not recover from, potentially ever. Do you have a problem with that, Ambassador Montyliet?”</p><p>Josephine smiled, more genuinely than she would do in a typical diplomatic meeting. “To the contrary, General Neimena. It is seldom that one has the opportunity to witness such a monumental move in the Game. An occurrence with as much gravitas as this one happens not even every age.”</p><p>Neimena relaxed and returned the smile. “That’s because the rules of the game have systematically excluded my people for a long time, Ambassador. Stick around and you might find the historical a daily occurrence.”</p><p>“I could indeed think convincing reasons to stay a little while longer…”</p><p>Leliana stepped towards the table. “We also should admire the General’s action for the sheer audacity to beat an invasion force of fourty-five thousand with a tenth that number. With two hundred and thirteen dead and fourteen wounded, most of our forces are still intact. Furthermore, the battle tonight has seen but two noteworthy injuries on our side against almost three thousand enemies either captured or killed, making it the most successful skirmish in recorded Thedosian history.”</p><p>“Only when compared to human history, one might be inclined to add, Grand Cleric,” Neimena countered.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Leliana smiled wryly. “And among the two injured in the main battle, one is the Heroine of Ferelden herself. That could have ended badly.”</p><p>Josephine looked up from her notes. “But it didn’t. Do you know how much story can be told with the premise of the Queen emerging bruised, but successful from the battle for her country? That’s excellent narrative material.”</p><p>“I’m not a healer,” Leliana began, “but I wouldn’t call a skull close to shattered a bruise.”</p><p>“We all know she has a thick skull and the AMR has acquired the best healers south of the Waking Sea!” Sapphia replied.</p><p>Briala nodded. “The healers told her to sleep off some of the shock and give her nervous system a bit of a rest. Her injuries have been healed completely.”</p><p>Leliana sighed loudly and switched the subject. “There are… revelations Josephine and I discovered while sighting the documents we have secured from the enemy.”</p><p>Briala tilted her head. “Bad news?”</p><p>“Not really. Actually, it’s some of the best politically explosive material I’ve ever seen. However, some of it concerns the Empress, and I wanted to give you the opportunity to leave, should that topic be difficult.”</p><p>“In what way should it be difficult?”</p><p>“The reason she was so adamantly against sending an imperial envoy to Imerati wasn’t because she planned against her becoming Queen. In fact, she based her plans upon that prospect.”</p><p>“Then why didn’t she officially endorse Imerati?”</p><p>“Because…” Leliana paused, trying to delay the inevitable conclusion, “Celene and Gaspard were both working together in a plan to annex Ferelden.”</p><p>“That can’t be! Celene had internationally binding agreements with Anora!”</p><p>“The exact wording of that document was that she recognized the sovereignty of any member of the Mac Tir family and any legitimate successor. While her letters defend Anora, she did not recognize an elf as being legally capable of succession.”</p><p>Briala face told a tale of shock and anger. “But she would have nothing to gain from that move!”</p><p>“Actually, she did. She promised Gaspard Ferelden in return for a specific public reaffirmation of his loyalty and having his troops swear and oath of fealty to her as well.”</p><p>Briala closed her eyes. “Gaspard would not be okay with just Ferelden. He thinks it a backwater. Tell me, what did Celene promise him in return.”</p><p>Leliana breathed in loudly. “I don’t know if…”</p><p>“I want to know, Leliana.”</p><p>Leliana looked at Briala and trusted her decision. “The Dales and the elves. She would have given him a kingdom from Lake Celestine to the Amaranthine Ocean and the highest legal authority over all elves in Orlais in exchange for knowing one opponent removed…”</p><p>“He couldn’t just take Ferelden while the Grand Cleric opposed him loudly,” Briala thought out loud, trying to make sense of it all.</p><p>“Among his documents are also three from the Sunburst Throne and the White Spire. He promised Beatrix more privileges for Chantry territories in Ferelden and the Lord Seeker his full support of a full Annulment of all mages in Ferelden. In return, the Divine would have crowned him Vice-Roi and the White Spire would have given him titles of honor and military support.”</p><p>“It wouldn’t have worked. No truce between Celene and him could have lasted. This could not have worked.”</p><p>“He already had plans to march on Val Royeaux after consolidating his power in the Dales and Ferelden. Secretly, Beatrix had through various channels announced her support for him as Emperor for even more Chantry privileges in Orlais. I can only tell you rumors and whispers of Celene’s strategy, but there are indications she had plans to, in his absence, install a puppet as the Duke of Chalons against Gas…”</p><p>Briala loudly banged her fist on the table, so harshly that the little figures on the maps where all falling over. “Please excuse me.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Imerati opened her eyes. She had little idea where she was. She blinked, once, twice. Moved her finger and toes. Then, her hands and feet. Lastly, her arms. She lay on something soft and something soft and warm was above her. Mattress. Blanket. Bed, in short. She tried to sit up. It was stressful. Every single muscle in her body was aching. She sighed and looked around. At the other side of the empty medical tent sat Briala, head buried in her hands. Imerati couldn’t tell if she was crying.</p><p>“Briala?” Imerati asked softly.</p><p>Briala looked up suddenly and stood up. “Imerati…”</p><p>Briala walked over to Imerati’s bed and kneeled down next to it, hugging Imerati. Imerati had no idea why, yet couldn’t be moved by all the Old Gods at once to question such a gesture.</p><p>“Did we… did we win?”</p><p>Briala let go of the embrace and looked into Imerati’s eyes. “You cannot imagine how many lives our victory and Gaspard's death have saved.”</p><p>“That is… good.” Memories rushed back to Imerati. “Oh creators… how annoying was I after last night’s battle?” she whispered.</p><p>Briala laughed, an honest laugh, speaking of a lot of other emotions Imerati could not decipher. “Not at all. Something was in these potions that made you a lot more confident than usual, but I don’t see any way anyone was annoyed by it.”</p><p>Silence emerged as Imerati looked at Briala’s face, Briala’s mouth close to forming words, Briala’s eyes moving through different points of focus way behind Imerati. “Imerati…”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“In a previous conversation, you mentioned realizing at Ostagar how much of your life was a lie perpetuated and forced by the Chantry. After at least a decade of lies, how did you find out of the bars of thought around you?”</p><p>Imerati didn’t have to think long for an answer. “I looked at my previous existence. I asked myself what parts were lies, and realized too much of it had been to matter. So I took the liberty to invent someone new, myself. Imerati. I am a sum of decisions I have made how I should be, mostly formed around my moral ideals and, well, my inherent queerness. The rest is a mosaic of what I admire most in the people around me. My self is largely just a mirror of the people I love and an homage to those who have fought for us before me, and that is my decision of who I am.”</p><p>“It is truly that simple?”</p><p>“No. It can be really hard. You need to destroy so many walls stacked into your mind and soul and once you do, you regularly stumble across the ruins of the mental prison that held you. Then you dismantle those ruins. It is a constant process of discovery, healing and reinvention. But I wouldn’t change it for anything else.”</p><p>“You certainly make it appear possible. When I look at you, I see that deliberation, that choice you spoke of. While I tried countless times, it is hard to see you as simply the Queen of Ferelden. When I look at you, I see a determined, clever, well-spoken woman who has made a better world her mission.”</p><p>“I try my best,” Imerati reacted, trying not to make it obvious how much that compliment meant to her.</p><p>“Why do you reject the power the crown gives you?”</p><p>“Because it shouldn’t exist in the first place. It is violence, cast in gold. I will use it as far as necessary to defend our people and my kin from harm, to counter the violence posed against our lives and happiness, and I see why counter-violence is necessary at this moment in history. But it should never be a permanent state. The crown is a situationally useful, but incredibly dangerous tool. Power should always be questioned and always be pressured to justify its existence. Most positions of power are unnecessary to begin with. A monarchy is a very good example of that.”</p><p>“I see.” Briala’s gaze wandered off.</p><p>After a while, a soldier entered the tent. “Commander, the General has requested your presence. The legions’ envoy has appeared to discuss terms of surrender.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>The man sitting on the other side of the table, flanked by two Warden soldiers, sat a pretty unremarkable man. Imerati had problems keeping apart faces, and that man was a pretty decent example of an every-day face. His armor bore no special emblems or embellishments. Yet, the sword on his side told a different story.</p><p>“Most of your friends seemed to have chosen to flee when they had the chance, the rest are dead or prisoners of war. A bold choice to appear here.” Neimena was leading the conversation, while Imerati sat to her left and Briala to her right.</p><p>“For the Chevaliers, I have been not worthy of that title. Yet their enemies seem to group me with them just fine.”</p><p>“My ability to feel pity is limited. How shall I address you?”</p><p>“My name is Treveon Alexandre. I represent what is left of the legions’ command structure.”</p><p>“Why shouldn’t I just arrest you, Treveon Alexandre, and add you to the long list of captives of tonight’s battle?”</p><p>“Because I represent the entire legions. Most are just common folk wishing to go home. But some thousand would love to just move forward and avenge the fallen Chevaliers. I am the one voice of reason that has managed to placate them. Arrest me and thousands of soldiers will march through these lands.”</p><p>“Do you truly think that after defeating the supposed best fighters in Southern Thedas, a few undisciplined commoners are going to pose a problem for us?”</p><p>“You now have a perfect victory ripe for the history books in your hands. You don’t wish to jeopardize it now. Furthermore, as far as I know the reputation of Her Majesty, the Queen of Ferelden, you wouldn’t want to risk more lives than necessary, would you?”</p><p>Imerati wasn’t impressed. “Most chevaliers would neither accept my status nor my respectability.”</p><p>“Oh, but you have fought for it now, haven’t you? Your General has reached an admirable victory on the battlefield against Gaspard. To the victor go the spoils, and that also means titles and status.”</p><p>Imerati sighed. Even if they accepted her identity, they did so for morally reprehensible reasons. “A fascinating move, to congratulate a sworn enemy on their victory.”</p><p>“See, I don’t regard any enemy as unworthy. Your strategy was quite unorthodox, but it was successful, and that is what matters. I can easily accept that you have outsmarted Gaspard. He underestimated your intelligence, and that brought forth his downfall.”</p><p>“Have you come here for anything else than to lick our boots, Treveon?” Briala asked in a state of theatric boredom.</p><p>“Of course. I offer our terms of surrender: We accept your victory, unconditionally. We will retreat back to Orlais, not touching any Fereldan civilian or soldier in the process. You don’t have the manpower to make that many POWs and we don’t wish to fight any longer. It would be fair.”</p><p>“Your men carry armors and weapons, right, Treveon?” Imerati wondered.</p><p>“Yes, naturally, Your Majesty.”</p><p>“My first condition is that you leave behind any equipment that isn’t strictly clothes. No, scratch that, my first condition is that you refer to me as Warden-Commander, and the second is that you leave behind your equipment.”</p><p>Treveon thought for a second. “I do not have the power to reject that condition, and I don’t think this will be controversial.”</p><p>“You also carry provisions. What kind?”</p><p>“Durable foods; pickles, salted meats and vegetables, and loads of hard bread. Enough for four months.”</p><p>“My third condition is that you leave behind any provisions you don’t need for your journey back.” Imerati turned around to a page. “Inform Commander Meravas of the AMR that her skills are needed to get thousands of weapons to Denerim and thousands of tons of food to the cities of Ferelden.”</p><p>Treveon nodded. “A sensible condition and a surprisingly populist action.”</p><p>“Not populist; anarchist, but you wouldn’t know the difference. Fourth and last condition is that we don’t have to see you again, because I promise you, when we do, it is going to be less diplomatic.”</p><p>Treveon saluted theatrically. “I am however afraid that the latter point is the Maker’s Will and not my own.”</p><p>“Get. Out. Now!” grumbled Briala.</p><p>Treveon got up and left the tent in a hurry.</p><p> </p><p>Shortly afterwards, Leliana entered the tent, a very stern look on her face. “Briala, Imerati, the Dark Wolf has news.”</p><p>“Of the bad kind, given the absence of a smile in your face?” remarked Imerati.</p><p>“Of the kind that could end a dynasty but also you need to hear it yourself.”</p><p>Leliana talked to them on their way to the command tent. “This news is very personal for Briala and I am sorry that I heard it, I am unsure if…”</p><p>“What is it?” Briala demanded to know.</p><p>Leliana held back the piece of cloth covering the entrance of the command tent and pointed them to enter. “I want you to see yourself.”</p><p>“Why shouldn’t Neimena take part?”</p><p>“It is very personal and I thought only you should decide what to do with that information, Briala.”</p><p>“Why Imerati’s presence, then?”</p><p>“You should have a friend at your side when you hear it.”</p><p>The Dark Wolf saluted as they approached his small workspace. “Heroine. Mademoiselle. Nightingale.”</p><p>Briala seemed impatient. “What is it?”</p><p>“Six of my infiltrators, which is almost all of my agents in Val Royeaux, and three members of the Nightingale's network died two weeks ago to infiltrate a heavily guarded vault in Val Royeaux and retrieve one document.”</p><p>“My sympathies. Was it worth the sacrifice of those lives?”</p><p>“I deal in information, mademoiselle. If I would only think in that category, then yes. This information could break an Empire apart.”</p><p>“I’ve heard several of those today.”</p><p>“Indeed, but this one was gathered at your request.”</p><p>Briala blinked. “You found out who was behind the killing of my parents?”</p><p>“I found out the who… and especially the why.” He handed her a document. “Be careful, this is the only verifiable original to exist.”</p><p>“It’s a contract… by the House of Repose…” Briala read.</p><p>“Most assassins in Val Royeaux are at least subcontracted by the House. So I thought I’d find the answer to your question in their vault. Anyhow. The short story is that the rumors are true. The sitting Empress of Orlais had her predecessor murdered to gain access to the throne. And the servants in her estate knew that. So she tied up loose ends.”</p><p>“No… no…” Briala’s tears began to drop onto the floor.</p><p>“Empress Celene Valmont and Dowager Mantillon killed your parents so that the one secret that could cost the Empress the throne would remain but a rumor. And we have the proof.”</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>9:31 Dragon, 13th of Haring, eighteen and a half hours past midnight</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The day of the summit had arrived with more haste than Imerati had expected. Three months had seemed a long time three months ago. Now it felt like the time had hardly been enough to prepare.</p><p>The location of the summit had been chosen by Leliana, Briala and Josephine after a long meeting that had included, among other things, debates on symbolism within symbolism. Afterwards, they had reached a consensus that forcing Celene and Beatrix into a small, meaningless castle by the name of Kingsmountain thirty miles northwest of Lake Calenhad somewhere that amounted to nowhere would be the most passive-aggressive and therefore best choice. It followed Imerati’s specifications on how she pictured the meeting.</p><p>Imerati wore her armor, the one she had been wearing at the Battle at Ethford, just with a few more added details of symbolism attached to it. She felt a bit overburdened with symbols, feeling like there were so many details that the collective became meaningless. Maybe that was a useful statement to make, to announce that her agenda was a collage of many needs and visions. A genderqueer mage and veteran from the liberation of Jainen, going by the simple name of M, had become something of Imerati’s personal stylist. M had arranged Imerati’s hair in a simple fishtail braid, saying that it would just distract from her makeup if made to be too complicated. M had done Imerati’s eyebrows as well, and for the first time ever, Imerati felt content with them; they were much larger, full and geometric. Also, M had invented a liquid based on lyrium powder and several iterations of magical spells that would make Imerati’s makeup cling to her face perfectly for at least a week. It would be a stressful week for her skin, that much was sure.</p><p>Imerati was sitting at a desk made from dark oak wood, upon which rested some wine glasses, some paper and some inks and quills. Seats in very different and contrasting styles were arranged around the table. Sapphia had insisted they made the furniture appear as if it were taken from the sanctuary at the former headquarters of the Society. It was a symbolic touch Imerati appreciated, especially since she had gotten a rather high Fereldan armchair that was incredibly soft in its cushions. The room was largely empty aside from a fireplace at her back, a door and some rugs to her left, some bookcases in the left corner that was in front of her, and five simple glass windows in the wall to her right. The banner of the movement was hanging from the ceiling to her right, blocking the sunlight coming through one of the windows. As simple as the furnishings was the castle itself; made from rough, grey, assorted rocks. Nothing was fancy here. Nothing could be fancy here. This was an insult to Orlais and the Game itself, or rather, an inversion of the normal. Being invited to such a castle, with only a small entourage, out in the nowhere, that was a huge insult to the Empress and the Divine. But the Empress and Divine having to oblige and accept the invitation, being so degraded from their usual extravagance, that was a show of force. Imerati had insisted that they didn’t try to meet them at the noble level but rather to drag them down to commoners.</p><p>To Imerati’s right sat Leliana, in her full Grand Cleric garb, and apparently wearing a headdress with heraldic and symbolic details usually reserved for the Divine herself. Imerati liked that idea; the sheer audacity against which the Divine couldn’t act. Imerati didn’t really care that this was a good move within the game, she just was glad that the Divine would be subjected to such an attack on the nature of her station.</p><p>To Leliana’s right was Sapphia. The loud-mouthed general of an apostate uprising next to a Grand Cleric was also a symbolic choice most funny and meaningful to Imerati. Sapphia looked beautiful as always, in her uniform, with her staff leaning at the left side of her birch wood chair, between Leliana and her.</p><p>To Sapphia’s right was Fiona, in her a Warden Battle Mage Armor, also with staff in reach. Together, the pair symbolized the solidarity of those still locked behind circle bars and the apostates that had successfully fled to Ferelden. There had been a great influx of the latter in the last few months, and Imerati had been overjoyed to have made a place noticeably better for mages.</p><p>To Imerati’s left was Briala, in a very finely woven wool a-line dress in orange and a gold necklace with inset amethyst around her neck. The dress had a turtleneck and long sleeves, fitting for the time of year, but also quite magnificent, just like Briala herself. Yet her face was so much more composed than Imerati had become used to. Stern. Stoic.</p><p>To Briala’s right was Neimena, in her full Dalish armor in blue and purple, with her emerald necklace, and her braids of the Emerald Knights. Neimena’s determination alone was a symbolic statement, and every detail in her appearance made that statement the more visible. She was no different than Imerati in that regard. It was that mixture of ambition and the audacity to not hide that ambition a single bit that Imerati had enjoyed in her since day one. Briala next to Neimena symbolized the inseparable bond between the city elves and the Dalish.</p><p>And, lastly, to Neimena’s right, was Josephine, in an Antivan silk suit whose color was almost perfectly like the blue of Neimena’s Vallaslin. There had been no evident symbolic reason to seat the two together. Josephine was, however, undeniably an excellent diplomat, and her presence was absolutely necessary. If only to balance out the style of Imerati and Sapphia, which both could be described as the furthest distance one can take from diplomacy.</p><p> </p><p>The main door to the other side opened and six people entered. Four of them were soldiers, two Orlesian bodyguards in full silver lion masks to the right, two personal guards of the Divine in their colorful uniforms to the left. In between them walked in an old woman with an outfit almost exactly like Leliana’s, and a masked blonde woman in a white imperial dress. They had followed the specific request to appear with only minimal guards at the hall itself, leaving their noble and cleric entourage to stand around uselessly in the lower levels of the castle. Marvelous. Imerati wanted to giggle at how out of place these two women appeared, despite the stoic and composed movements of their bodies and faces.</p><p>They walked towards the revolutionaries, as had been intended, even in the microcosm this room, they would have to walk towards them, not the other way around. They both took their places.</p><p>Before Imerati could start with the agreed upon and often rehearsed opening statement, Celene took the word. “Imerati, I am most delighted by this opportunity to finally meet you in person. Queen Anora has only spoken in the most praising words when referring to the Heroine of Ferelden.”</p><p>Well. If Celene’s opening statement was going to be an indirect insult, Imerati’s would have to follow suit. “I understand. Truth be told, her death made me sad, as well. Anora would have certainly known you more from face to face conversations. All I have to go on are letters and first-hand accounts from your family, however, not few of them.” At Ethford, the movement had taken several members of the royal imperial family prisoner, among them, two distant cousins of Celene.</p><p>Beatrix took the word, next. Imerati wondered if she had felt left out. “Her Imperial Majesty and the Sunburst Throne have followed your invitation here to renew our commitment to Ferelden’s sovereignty under the crown.”</p><p>Imerati raised an eyebrow. “Let’s not dance around, shall we? This isn’t the Winter Palace, why speak like we are there. Frankly, I don’t give a damn about the crown. I want equal legal status for commoners in Orlais.”</p><p>Sapphia seemed delighted to drop formalities. “Don’t forget the legalization of all apostacy, a feat that will improve all of Thedas!”</p><p>Fiona cleared her throat. “If we are at that point, abolish the circles and legalize all magehood.”</p><p>Neimena shrugged and joined in. “The retreat of Orlesian troops from Dalish lands and the return of Halamshiral under Dalish stewardship need to be guaranteed.”</p><p>Josephine nodded. “Certainly. The equal treatment of elves under the law and the sovereignty of the Dales are necessary.”</p><p>“And how about we stop pretending like the Canticles of Shartan don’t exist and open up priesthood to all races?” Leliana added.</p><p>A pause emerged as the Divine looked very distressed, to Imerati’s delight.</p><p>“Bria, what do you get out of all of this?” Celene asked. “You sit amongst such strange company, yet where is your true place? I’ve missed you, and I want, no, I need you to come home. Come back to Val Royeaux with me and we can see…”</p><p>Given that it all happened in an instant, it took Imerati two seconds to realize what was happening. The first thing that was obvious was a sound she knew well, but never heard that isolated. It was a crunch, jarring if so alone. It was common on the battlefield, but out of place in a small, peaceful hall. A burgundy liquid was dropping from Celene’s mask, but it wasn’t the wine of the glass that had just been thrown against her face. The wine had spilled across the table in an almost mathematically perfect straight line. What was dripping from her mask was blood. A broken nose, most likely. The next sound was a crash of wood against stone next to Imerati. She turned her head to see Briala had jumped out and was running towards the door. Putting the pieces together, Imerati concluded that Briala had thrown a wine glass in Celene’s face. And now was running away, probably in high emotional distress. In much less time than the two seconds it had taken her to understand what was going on, namely in an instant, she decided to run after Briala. The others could very well pick up the metaphorical and physical pieces themselves.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>When Imerati caught up with Briala after some hectic running through the close-by forest, Briala was sitting on a log of a fallen over tree, staring into the snow falling from the sky.</p><p>“Would you mind company? I’d completely understand if you wanted to be alone, too,” Imerati tried to announce her presence.</p><p>Briala slowly turned her head towards Imerati. “I would mind most company currently, but you are welcome to stay.” Her voice was quiet, but not like her usual measured or whispering tone.</p><p>Imerati sat down to Briala’s right, letting the cape fall behind the log. She couldn’t tell if the droplets of water on Briala’s face were melted snowflakes or tears.</p><p>“How did you find me? Is there a way to track someone with magic?” Briala asked.</p><p>“There are several, most involving blood magic. But finding you was as easy as following the tracks your shoes left, they appear quite visible in the fresh snow.” Imerati looked to the sky. “Though, judging by the clouds, they’ll be covered within the next hour.”</p><p>Briala let out a short, weak laugh. “Fair enough.” Her eyes were now focusing on the ground, almost closed. Imerati now could definitely spot some tears rolling down Briala’s cheeks, though it would appear that Briala tried to keep them at bay. And, that much was also certain, Briala was shivering, ever so slightly.</p><p>Imerati unpinned her cape at both sides and handed it to Briala. “Here. I am sorry I can’t offer you more.”</p><p>Briala took the cape, rolled it around herself and grabbed the ends of it tightly. She sighed. “A part of me desperately wanted to see her reaction. How she would react to a demand involving the free Dales. The full freedom of our people. That which she always called impossible to achieve when I tried to steer the conversation towards it.”</p><p>Briala began to shiver more intensely. “I… I knew she’d wear a mask, of course she’d wear a mask, she’s always wearing a mask. I…” She paused. “I wanted so much to see her finally having to give in. Or, I mean… She’ll find a way to weasel out of the full demand. After all, she is an excellent player of the Game. But I wanted to see her at least partially cave. I wanted to see her flinch, I wanted to see her power reduced, if only by a notch. I wanted… I needed to see that behind the immortal title of the Empress was someone who is as mortal and fragile as the rest of us.”</p><p>“You needed to confirm that the danger that you have been in for so long has passed. You need not justify yourself for anything, least of all that. It is quite understandable.”</p><p>“I apologize, I probably have jeopardized the entire summit by… I…” The tears were coming more and more frequently, and Briala was struggling with words. “I should have foreseen that she would see me as the weakest link and that she would act that way, it is so obvious… I should have…” She sobbed. “You must hate me for that action… you must think me so… so… so incapable…”</p><p>“Briala, I think you many things. I think you are brilliant, talented, courageous, ambitious, determined, and that you follow a strong moral compass. I do not think you incapable. To the contrary. And you need not foresee every political action. You are allowed to make mistakes. You are allowed to be caught by surprise by things. I have sworn my life to the mission of creating a world where no one is ever forced into a role as dangerous as the one you were assigned, again. We will make it so. I promise you that you haven’t jeopardized anything.”</p><p>Briala broke into full tears, and Imerati wondered what she could do to help Briala feel better. Last time Briala had let out that many emotions, they had cuddled on Briala’s initiative. Imerati remembered that she was still in her armor. Hastily, and much less graciously than she would have liked, Imerati stripped off the decorative griffon pauldron on her shoulder and threw it into the snow close by. Wordlessly, Briala slid closer and wrapped her arms around Imerati’s torso pressed her head against Imerati’s shoulder. Imerati hesitated for a second and then returned the gesture, ever careful not to hurt Briala.</p><p>Briala’s forehead rested against Imerati’s cheek. Imerati could feel that it was quite warm, and was relieved, given that she had wondered if Briala’s strained nervous system could still keep up an acceptable body temperature in the cold. Given, however, that her understanding of anatomy was rudimentary, she also wondered if Briala’s forehead wasn’t too warm for the situation. Briala was crying and shaking and sobbing, and Imerati was grateful for being able to provide Briala space to do so. It was all Imerati could do in this situation, anyhow. The snow kept on falling, thicker and thicker, yet Imerati did not feel the cold at all.</p><p> </p><p>After some time had passed (Imerati lost all of her already lackluster sense of time so close to Briala), the sobbing started to gradually become less frequent and the shacking less extreme. It wasn’t a linear decline, but a noticeable one. After even more time passed and the sky gradually turned yellow and red in the setting sun, Briala stopped crying but remained in their mutual embrace. Imerati could not stop herself from feeling so right and good in Briala’s arms. The sun dropped lower and lower on the sky as the two remained unmoving.</p><p>Briala broke the silence first. “On one hand, the three-month anniversary of Ethford was a good choice for the summit. On the other hand, it is almost unbearably cold.”</p><p>“Agreed.”</p><p>“What time is it?”</p><p>Imerati fished out her pocket watch from one of the many pockets of her belt. “Three minutes before eight.”</p><p>“I do not want to go back, Imerati. I don’t.”</p><p>“And it would also appear that we don’t have that much sunlight left to find our way back.”</p><p>“So, what now?”</p><p>Imerati pondered for a moment. “We could make camp in the cave past that hill that I saw while tracking your footprints.”</p><p>“Will a cave shield us that much from the cold?”</p><p>Imerati left Briala’s embrace and stretched out an arm, holding out her palm, and summoned a small, stationary fireball. “No, but a fire might.”</p><p>Briala laughed. “Well, always good to keep a mage at hand.”</p><p>Imerati smiled at her. “So, what do you say?”</p><p>“I say we should spend the night in that cave.”</p><p> </p><p>The cave wasn’t extraordinarily large, maybe thirty steps deep and twenty steps wide at it’s largest. The ceiling was quite high and smoother than the one in most caves Imerati had seen. A small hole in the ceiling, maybe a step wide, let in a beam of moonlight. The cave’s floor and parts of the walls were covered in thick moss.</p><p>Having collected a few pieces of wood outside, Imerati easily ignited them with some elemental magic. To the contrast of the cold light of the moon appeared the warm reds and oranges of the cave lit by the fire. Briala sat down on a patch of moss and leaned onto the wall. Imerati did the same, her shoulder touching Briala’s.</p><p>Briala sighed. “Say, you couldn’t summon some ice and then melt it with fire so that we can drink something, can you?”</p><p>Imerati unbuckled her belt and untied a drinking horn from it. “Better yet: grape juice!”</p><p>Having opened the bronze lid, Briala drank from the juice in large gulps. Afterwards, she closed the lid again and let her head fall backwards onto the moss. She turned towards Imerati. “A symbolic element representing the bountiful land, I presume?”</p><p>Imerati blushed. “Nothing so complex, I am afraid. The castle cellar just had some excellent, freshly pressed grapes that would have been designated wine, but I don’t drink alcohol, so I asked for some of the juice.”</p><p>Briala smiled towards her, a smile carrying warmth as much as it expressed curiosity. “No alcohol? Why, if I may ask?”</p><p>Imerati tried desperately to find an adequate answer while her gaze interlocked with Briala’s. “You may always ask.” She pondered. “People drink alcohol to let go and lessen their control over themselves. A choice for relaxation of self-control that I can understand the reasoning for, but not share it. All my life has been about controlling what is and isn’t myself, what I say, how I act. My self is a choice, and I will not be moved to give up my ability to choose with a clear head.”</p><p>“Almost the opposite of Leliana’s ability to out-drink even the most veteran sommeliers. Fascinating.”</p><p>Imerati smiled. “Yes. We do pose two ends of a spectrum in that regard, don’t we.”</p><p>“You do seem to be also different in your political area of focus and your style of engaging with problems.”</p><p>Imerati nodded. She once again felt to intense desire to gently stroke Briala’s cheek. Wait. She had been asked an indirect question. “Well, yeah. She has her strong belief in the maker, while I feel more and more drawn to the rituals and worship of the Creators. Of course, she’d be more interested in chantry affairs than I am. I need not understand how or where she is fighting to know that she is a brilliant soul who fights for the right reasons.”</p><p>“You truly love her.”</p><p>Imerati blushed and grinned sheepishly. “Yes. Yes. I do.”</p><p>“And you still would support her as the Divine?”</p><p>“Unreservedly.”</p><p>“Does your offer still stand to support me as Bellrenan?”</p><p>“Yes, of course. I do not make such suggestions lightly or without deliberation.”</p><p>“Would you indulge my ideas for a few minutes? I’ve… made some inquires and developed some rough concepts regarding our next steps towards freeing the Dales…”</p><p>“Briala, I would listen to any of your thoughts for hours on end and I am thankful for every word you share with me.” It was the full truth, directly lifted from Imerati’s heart.</p><p>Briala smiled at her, thankfulness in her eyes, and Imerati could see how behind them, Briala’s mind started working. “So, we can largely assume that the… Empress has prepared one way or the other to keep the Dales under the rule of Orlais. We should not make the mistake to think change will willingly come from our oppressors. They will fight with every bit of violence at their disposal to upkeep a maximum of their power. It is therefore self-evident that the only institution capable of freeing the Dales is the diligence and the will of the elven people itself…”</p><p> </p><p>Briala went on to explore the role of the Arlathvhen as an institution that may constitute the collective elven will until they could return to the Dales. She weighed different methods of delegate systems. How delegates may continually ensure that all decisions found followed the consensus of the communities they represented. How question asked to the Arlathvhen could reach the communities fast enough to be discussed within them. How one could make sure that an assembly of delegates would not just create a new level of power and status that separated the people more. She lay out several possible answers for those questions and got a bit stuck weighing the pros and cons for creating a separate institution tasked with penalizing delegates. Her final conclusion was that delegates should only be sent out on the initiative of the communities they represented and that the position, if possible, were to be rotated among members of the community. They should only present conclusions based on the consensus of their community at the Arlathvhen, and, when no such consensus had been reached, abstain from voting. The communities would also hand in questions to the Arlathvhen via the delegates. A delegate’s task, so Briala’s conclusion, would be to carry both the knowledge and wisdom of the individual communities presented by other delegates and a new set of questions home. There, those new questions and pieces of knowledge would be discussed and would hopefully lead to new consensus at the Arlathvhen. By that method, more than one individual could represent their community at the assembly, and more than one individual per community could participate in the process of learning and teaching.</p><p>She also pondered on how to make sure the city elves were adequately represented and what to do with mutual distrust between some Dalish clans and city elf communities. That question also entailed what would count as a community; should one clan of a few dozen members have the same voting power as an alienage with many thousand souls? Should the alienages be counted as several communities, and if so, how would they be constituted? And there was the question of how to deal with situations where a community of city elves might be kept from assembling under the threat of violence. How could an individual participate in the process of finding consensus when said participation put them in danger? What with communities who couldn’t meet as one that often? What about those really far away, where delegates might take months of travel before arriving at the Arlathvhen? Briala designed a couple of possible answers, but Imerati heard in Briala’s voice that she found none entirely satisfactory.</p><p>Briala was very adamant about starting processes for preserving the mosaic of elvish cultures and safeguarding them against human violence. To both spread knowledge among the communities themselves and create scientific institutions who would continually invest time into collecting pieces. She explained how one might keep different dialects and variations of the elvish tongue from dying out and discussed if copies of Dalish texts should be made, how many, and if libraries should be centralized or decentralized. She wondered if it was prudent to write down texts kept in oral tradition and if so, how one might translate the unique aspects of the spoken word into the written. She wondered how one should essay to find a common undercurrent among all existing elven traditions, trying to find their common origins within the Kingdom of the Dales. She was saddened by imagining how much had been lost in the fall of the Dales, even if they were to recollect all surviving aspects of culture.</p><p>And she discussed varying levels of conflict that could emerge from trying to free the Dales. If an alliance could be forged, strong enough to oppose the Orlesian armies. How conflict could affect the lives of those unwilling or unable to fight. How such a process might lead to repercussions for elven communities in Thedas. She wondered how violently the humans that had settled the Dales or taken over existing elven cities and settlements would react. The only thing she could say for sure was that the goal that took precedence over all other questions was to return the Dales to elven stewardship. How such a goal could be reached from the first day of a possible conflict. She retold Neimena’s accounts of the societal structure of the Kingdom of the Dales and which aspects would still be applicable and which would have to be changed to dynamically process the varying opportunities and challenges such a conflict entailed.</p><p>Imerati listened carefully to every word as the constellations of Briala’s ideas slowly became clear before Imerati’s mind. It was mesmerizing to be allowed so deeply into Briala’s vision. The beauty of the situation was not limited to the act of sharing itself, it was also quite evident how well of an orator Briala was. Back when Neimena had planned out the future, it had been a mathematical construction with a metaphorical ruler and a pair of compasses, assigning every possible outcome and point of divergence a clear-cut probability and separating it from the rest of possible lines of events. Neimena’s plans were almost always a mathematical proof. Briala’s plans were more akin to a set of paintings. Scenarios, thoughts, fields of common themes weren’t clearly separated but perfectly merged with each other seamlessly and continually transformed, as if applying a bit of watercolor to a not yet dried layer of paint. There was such a palpable poetic quality to Briala’s words. Imerati was overwhelmed by their beauty. Not that she hadn’t been mesmerized by them from her first meeting with Briala onwards. Yet here, together, in this warm cave in this snowy night, it felt like Briala wasn’t cautious or reserved any longer, as if she took the entire space of their conversation for the first time, with full confidence and trust. Imerati was also so intrigued by the sheer amount of knowledge and information Briala had acquired and was able to use in a conversation as if it was the most basic common knowledge. Imerati counted at least fifty-five individual elven communities, mostly city communities, whose name and situation or cultural traditions or stance on certain subjects Briala just knew by heart. She wondered how long it must have taken Briala to become that familiar with each of them.</p><p> </p><p> “… If any of that makes any sense, that is.” A long pause emerged. Briala seemed to be finished with her presentation of her vision of an elven future.</p><p>“Briala, this… I… Yes, that makes all the sense in the world. Your words are incredibly beautiful and I am infinitely thankful that you have shared these thoughts with me. I agree with all of them. I want to see this future you have described. I will fight for it, I promise.”</p><p>Briala smiled to her. “And I am infinitely thankful to you for listening to me for that long. It happens as an extreme oddity that I get the space to voice my thoughts, and even more seldomly, I need not worry about concealing my intentions or ideas. And now I had hours to go on and on about them. Thank you for indulging me.”</p><p>“Always, Briala, I will always listen to you. I love the sound of your voice and any and all ideas it carries. And I am certain it was only a couple of minutes…” She pulled out her pocket-watch and was extremely surprised when reading it. “I… uh… one-hundred and twenty does… count as ‘only a couple’… uh…”</p><p>Briala yawned. “I think I will need some rest, if that is okay for you.”</p><p>“Oh! I think I can make it a bit better!” She unbuckled the largest of the pockets on her belt and unrolled it. “A closeable hammock, made from halla wool!” Looking around, she found a niche in the wall close-by that had rocks protruding from the sides that would lend excellently to tying down the rope coming with the hammock. “If you want it, that is.”</p><p>“<em>Dis-donc</em>, was the cellar also filled with camping gear next to the wine production?” Briala joked.</p><p>Imerati chuckled. “No, this one actually represents the elven ability to survive autonomously outside. Only about half of what I carry around with myself is a direct reaction to my addiction to sweets. The rest does have a political meaning, if I can even believe my own word on this.”</p><p>“Where will you sleep, then?”</p><p>Imerati shrugged while she slung the hammock. “On the moss, presumably?”</p><p>“Cloth spun from halla wool is extremely sturdy…”</p><p>“Yes, I know.”</p><p>“It is somewhat cold inside of here, despite the fire.”</p><p>What did she mean by that? “Arguably, yes, I can get more firewood and create more fires if you want.”</p><p>“While sleeping, one’s body temperature drops noticeably.”</p><p>“As far as I know, that is correct, yeah.”</p><p>Briala chuckled and looked down. “My point is, you could sleep in the hammock with me.”</p><p>Imerati blinked, once, twice. “Ah, uhm, I… how…”</p><p>“Of course, that is just an offer you can freely refuse.”</p><p>Imerati caught her thoughts again. “Nothing, absolutely nothing, could make me not want this, but I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”</p><p>“Imerati, I offered it freely. I made an offer to give you the option to say yes or no. I am fully prepared for you taking up the offer.”</p><p>Imerati blushed strongly, so much so that it could very well be visible through her foundation. “Then yes, I would love to…”</p><p>Briala took off her dress and folded it cleanly, showing that she was wearing a short-sleeved undershirt and underpants reaching to the ankles of her feet.</p><p>Imerati began unbuckling parts of her armor, throwing the armor parts onto the ground, until she was in her undergarments as well. The sleeves of her shirt reached to her hands, yet her underpants didn’t even fully cover her thighs. A contrast slightly funny.</p><p>“Do you want to be the big spoon or the small spoon?” Briala asked.</p><p>“Mhhh, uhm, I don’t know. I usually am the big spoon with Leliana, though we do often switch positions. Yet, I wouldn’t mind being the small spoon.”</p><p>“Okay.” Briala smiled at her.</p><p>Imerati shivered a bit and awkwardly entered the hammock. She had slept in a hammock once in her life before, and that happened a year before. It was certainly an unusual feeling, to have no direct contact to something that was sitting firmly on the ground. She wondered how sailors accustomed to that feeling, but then imagined that a normal bed on solid ground might be unusual for them.</p><p>As Briala joined her and pressed her body against Imerati’s, Imerati felt goosebumps over her entire body. Briala’s left arm reached around her and her warmth overwhelmed Imerati. It was the physical pressure as well as the heat that made it so incredibly intense.</p><p>“Are you feeling all right, Imerati?” Briala whispered. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?”</p><p>“No! I mean, yes! I mean, it feels absolutely perfect…”</p><p>Briala took Imerati’s right hand with her left and intertwined their fingers. “Then goodnight, Imerati. Sleep well.”</p><p>“I… will…”</p><p>Briala’s breaths quickly became stable and calm. Every single one touched Imerati’s neck and every single one made Imerati’s spine tingle. Briala’s torso was firmly pressing against Imerati’s back and their legs were touching. It was a feeling Imerati wished she could enjoy for the rest of her life. She could see Briala’s forearm, equally bathed in the moonlight and the glimmer of the flames. She had never seen it this close. There were freckles there, just as on the rest of her body, that much Imerati knew, but she had never had the opportunity to count them, something she wanted to do for a long time. Having to start over after loosing track at sixty, she reached seventy-three before the weight of the day overcame her and she closed her eyes. Soon after, her rapidly beating heart began to calm as she fell into a deep, heavy sleep.</p><p> </p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p> </p><p>Imerati awoke to the glaring rays of sunlight hitting her face. She grumbled, still half in a dream, one that involved sleeping in the same hammock as Briala, their arms tightly around one another.</p><p>She heard a soft “aww” and wondered what it was. Breathing out, she opened her eyes. Wait. It had not been a dream. Briala was there, right there, close to her, looking into her eyes, smiling.</p><p>“Your eyelids flutter when you dream. It is very cute,” Briala remarked softly. Her face was only two hand lengths away from Imerati’s.</p><p>“I have been told that before…”</p><p>“Your eyeliner is impeccable. It is beautifully curved, and those wings are perfect.”</p><p>“Thank you…” Imerati whispered. “Your eyes are very beautiful…”</p><p>Briala smiled. They looked into each other’s eyes for a while until Briala’s rumbling stomach interrupted them.</p><p>Immediately, Imerati rolled to the side, lost her balance and ungraciously feel out of the hammock. “Ouch…”</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>Imerati lifted her face from the ground. “Given that there is moss all around, I had a soft landing that only broke my dignity.”</p><p>“Nonsense.” Briala swung out of the hammock, onto her feet, and helped Imerati get out. “As long as you are fine, nothing is broken.”</p><p>“Sorry. I actually wanted to get some snacks out of my belt.”</p><p>“Tell me, what don’t you carry around?” Briala began putting on her dress again.</p><p>“Hmmh. Good question.” Imerati took a few steps towards her belt and knelt down. “A map of the surrounding area would be prudent.” She fetched a silk handkerchief out of one of the pockets. “And I don’t have magnifying glasses with me, either, those can also be helpful in all sorts of situations.” She opened the handkerchief to reveal five round sweets. “However, I have brought these glazed marzipan balls with a liquid chocolate filling here.”</p><p>Briala sat down against the wall on the same spot she had taken yesterday. Imerati handed her the handkerchief and started putting on her own clothes again.</p><p>“<em>Créateur</em>, these are good. Where did you get them?”</p><p>“Leliana has a sweet tooth for most sugar-coated sweets all over the known world. She got me hooked on those things.” Imerati chuckled. “They are from a confectioner's shop in Cumberland.” Not wanting to go through the trouble of putting on her gambeson, she chose to remain in her undershirt while wearing the golden pants and her black boots. She took place next to Briala.</p><p>“Uhm… I don’t want to be rude… uh… but you have a bit of chocolate on your lips…”</p><p>Briala wiped her lips with the back of her hands, cleaning away most of the chocolate syrup. “I hope you don’t mind my poor table manners.” </p><p>Imerati looked around theatrically. “I see neither a table nor a necessity to conform to societal expectations anywhere around.”</p><p>“An excellent point,” Briala chuckled and continued eating. For a while, they sat there, just enjoying existing together. After having finished her snacks, Briala folded the handkerchief together, got up and put it back into the pocket Imerati had pulled it out of. She was quite observant, Imerati thought full of admiration.</p><p> </p><p>As she got back, Briala sat down on her knees, turned towards Imerati. Imerati followed her example so that they were facing each other, their knees almost touching. “You have described to me why you like Leliana and Sapphia before. And you told me that you are recipiosexual. Yet, I am curious… Do you entertain the notion of having a type?”</p><p>Briala looked directly into Imerati’s eyes. Imerati could make out several details in the eyes of the woman close to her. The interplay of darker and lighter shades of brown where the iris met the pupil was fascinating. Oh. Fuck. A question. “Uhhh…”</p><p>Briala shrugged. “Pardon. I understand that attraction patterns are complicated and can very well be fluid. A type is kind of a childish notion in itself, isn’t i…” “I do, actually, sort of.”</p><p>Once again, they had spoken at the same time, both blushing, yet not breaking eye contact. Imerati bit her lip. Communication was hard sometimes.</p><p>Briala was the first to speak again. “Well. I’d be most intrigued to hear which women are typically gifted your affection.”</p><p>“It is difficult to pin down, however…” Should she be honest? It was difficult to tell what she should do. She sent out a short and silent prayer to Mythal. She didn’t expect much, but she wanted Briala to know. It seemed fair to let Briala know what Imerati felt for her. And Imerati was tired of pretending that it was otherwise. “…there is a woman I have fallen in love with who perfectly encapsulates everything wonderful about the women who I typically adore that way.”</p><p>“Oh? Describe her to me, I am so curios to know!”</p><p>“I could give you a lengthy description that might even be somewhat accurate regarding physical detail.” She reached for her belt again and took off one of the smaller pouches and opened it. “But this is just easier.” She handed Briala a small, locket-like matte silver object with a button on top.</p><p>“You carry around a picture of her? How romantic! I’ve heard stories abou…” With a soft click, the locking mechanism had released and revealed it to be a small set of mirrors, one in each side of the locket. Imerati usually carried it around to check on her makeup. It was a very cute little handheld mirror that also clicked very satisfyingly when opened and closed. Now, it meant there was no going back.</p><p>“What?” Briala seemed exceedingly confused. Not the reaction Imerati had expected or hoped for. She had been prepared for rejection, but not for a scenario where… No use debating it now.</p><p>“I love you, Briala. I am sorry to tell you this in such an inarguably weird context, and while your head and heart are probably somewhere else entirely, but it is so much of an open secret anyhow that I just wanted to come clear and…”</p><p>“Do you want to kiss?”</p><p>“What?” It was Imerati’s turn to be visibly confused.</p><p>“Do you want to kiss?” Briala asked her again.</p><p>“What?” If there was any moment in her life that would make the notion of her being rhetorically skilled in other contexts seems laughable, it would be this one. “I thought… what?”</p><p>“Why did you tell me that you love me, if you didn’t expect an affirmative answer?” Briala was again visibly confused.</p><p>Imerati’s head seemed empty, simply because so many thoughts tried to form that none managed to do so fully. “I… well… I don’t know. You are trusting me so much and letting me be so close and you put weight onto our friendship and you let your pain exist and make its way outside when you are around me. Meanwhile, I am here, secretly thinking about how great you are and it feels so wrong to love you in silence while you trust me that much.”</p><p>“Love need not be a predatory feeling, Leliana and you taught me that quite vividly!”</p><p>“I don’t want to abuse you seeking reassurance in me. I don’t want to abuse a situation in which you need comfort and safety…”</p><p>“I can well know my feelings and I am aware of how emotionally vulnerable I am at the moment. But this pull I feel towards you has nothing to do with the pain Celene caused in me and that will linger there for a long time. I might feel pain, but that doesn’t mean I can’t feel happiness as well. Imerati, I feel so safe and comforted around you because I love you, too!”</p><p>Imerati blinked. “But… why? How? Since when?”</p><p>Briala paused for a moment, thinking. “Ever since I heard rumors about the elf that had ascended to a noble position just to abolish the nobility in her territory, I wanted to know you. However, I did not have an inkling that you would be so careful, so soft, so considerate. The woman behind the violet-gilded freedom is a beautiful, timid yet honest, incredibly caring individual with no hunger for power and a desire to demand what is right, no matter what the cost. You have helped me to see how badly Celene has treated me, yes, but you have also shown me how one can escape a lie. How one can find true happiness. And I feel very happy around you, in a way I never felt before. I need not look over my shoulder every five seconds when I am around you, I can just let my feelings be, I can let myself be. I want to be close to you. I want to radically change the face of the world with you. I want to set fire to the <em>Palais Royeaux </em>and hold your hand while we watch the flames. I want no souls to ever feel the pain we have felt again and I want to see a world like this created at your side. I want to free the Dales with you at my side and give every elven child the opportunity to grow up happily. I want you, Imerati. I love you.”</p><p>“Yes...”</p><p>“Yes to what?”</p><p>“Yes to everything you just proposed, but also your previous question.”</p><p>“What question?”</p><p>“The question if I wanted to kiss you.”</p><p>Briala took Imerati’s hand and interlocked their fingers. She smiled at Imerati and Imerati had a hard time grasping that the warmth behind that smile could truly be love.</p><p>“You are beautiful and mesmerizing and admire everything you do and I adore your vision and determination and I love you so much and thank you.” Imerati didn’t care to filter her stream of thoughts at this moment. She pressed Briala’s hand tightly. Briala pressed back, affirmingly, lovingly. They both looked at their intertwined hands, and Imerati was uncertain if it was real, if she deserved to feel so happy.</p><p>Carefully, Briala let go of Imerati’s hand, tracing her fingertips along the palm of Imerati’s hand, as if not wanting to let go. Their eyes met as Briala took Imerati’s face between her hands. As Briala pulled her closer, Imerati wrapped her arms around Briala’s torso. She closed her eyes and their lips met, softly, timidly, carefully; as not to shatter the beauty of the situation. Very slowly, they began to kiss more and more passionately, every step taken with the ability to immediately go back should the other voice discomfort.</p><p>Something about kissing felt inherently right to Imerati per se; the softness, the warmth, the texture of lips, especially towards the insight of the mouth, was fascinating to Imerati simply because of the haptic sensation. But there was something more to kissing Briala, something significantly more. Their faces were so close, their lips were touching, Briala’s hands felt hot on Imerati’s cheeks, Imerati’s arms reached around Briala, encompassed her. With every breath, they pulled each other closer, pressed themselves closer together. There was this desire to be close to each other so palpable, this intense want to trust the other, to rely on each other. Imerati’s spine tingled and her entire body felt like it was floating.</p><p>For a short moment, Imerati’s lips left Briala’s. “Var lath Mythal enansal,” she whispered between her heavy breaths. Our love is Mythal’s blessing.</p><p>“Var lath revas enasalin,” Briala whispered back. Our love is our freedom finally triumphing. “Var lath Mythal enansal.” She has truly blessed us.</p><p>They had separately fallen for each other and learned that they could fly together.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know what you are thinking. Yes. The self-insert has fallen in love with the fascinating fictional character before and now they kiss. Yes this is absolutely self indulgent. Yes maybe I should stop falling in love with fictional characters. Maybe.</p><p>Bringing Mythal so close to a modified Flemeth quote is the closest I'll ever come to acknowledging the canon presented in Inquisition, that is, not at all.</p><p>Anyhow, this is the end of the first major arc of the fanfiction. I'll take a longer pause from writing and then maybe some day in the future come back with the first chapters of the second arc, which will take parts of the revolutionaries to Kirkwall in 9:34 as a certain Hawke causes a civil war in the city and a war in the Free Marches.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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